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CHERRY ISLE 


By 

EVELYNE CLOSE 

w 



PHILADELPHIA 

GEORGE W. JACOBS & COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 

(VW ^ 



Copyright, 1920, by 
George W. Jacobs & Company 


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ct* 


4 1 * 


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All rights reserved 
Printed in U. S. A. 

0C1 \ 8 1920 

© Cl, A 5 9 7 9 9 8 



TO 

MY GODSON 

CUTHWIN 



Cherry Isle 


CHAPTER I 

Cherry-ripe, ripe, ripe I cry, 

Full and fair ones, come and buy. 

—Herrick. 

Charles Garston had told the chauffeur of the 
taxi in which he was driving to "‘hurry along as 
quickly as possible.” 

He had only ten minutes in which to cover a dis- 
tance that should have taken at least twelve. And he 
hated to be hurried ; it was bad for his nerves, bad for 
his temper, and he always said bad for his voice. 

And his voice was he — or he was his voice, which- 
ever way you like to put it. 

For Charles Garston, good-looking, rather lazy, tall 
and perfectly healthy, was at twenty-six considered by 
many people to be the best tenor in Europe. And if 
not the leading tenor, his voice was wonderful enough 
to charm the nether world up into light, or to bring the 
dwellers in the light down into the darkness, if he 
chose to raise that voice in the gloom. 

But there was one thing wrong with him. 

He had succeeded too soon and too easily. All 
doors had opened to him at his knock ; he had not had 
5 


6 


CHERRY ISLE 


to wait on thresholds in the cold and dark, with the 
piercing east wind of neglect cutting into the vitals of 
his soul and murdering his belief in himself. The 
world had fallen down before him, and worshiped. 

He leaned back now against the cushions of the 
open taxi, and his handsome face was marred ever so 
slightly by this same success. 

Seven minutes to twelve. 

His train left for Manchester at three minutes to 
the hour. He could afford to offend many people, but 
he could not afford to offend the great Manchester 
audience that would wait any number of hours if only 
at the end of the waiting it could hear him sing. 

Ah, nearly a block; but by a clever defiance of all 
rules of courtesy and the road, the chauffeur slipped 
past the long line of waiting vehicles and turned in 
at St. Pancras Station at three and a half minutes to 
the hour. 

Charles Garston, hurried from all his usual leisure, 
was out of the taxi before it stopped, and racing down 
the platform at top speed a second or so afterwards. 

The chauffeur was about to follow his fare into the 
station, but something which glittered yellow on the 
seat caused him to change his mind, and drive away 
as rapidly as possible. 

“ Gent might have made a mistake and be cornin' 
back for it,” he muttered. 

But Charles Garston never made mistakes of this 
sort; he was an excellent man of business, and com- 
bined a clearness of brain with the genuine artist's 
nature in an exceptional manner. It was only very 


CHERRY ISLE 7 

occasionally that he allowed his emotions to run away 
with him. 

He now jumped into the first open door and made 
his way along the corridor until he came to a first- 
class empty smoking compartment. He found a com- 
fortable seat and then noticed that the train had not 
begun to move. 

It was more than three minutes late in starting, and 
he need not have been in all that confounded hurry. 

By Jove, it was too bad of the railway Johnnies to 
play the fool with the time-tables in this manner! It 
was disgraceful to make a man race like that! Why, 
it would reduce the range of his voice by a semitone 
and give him indigestion; besides the taxi might have 
collided with something, and let him in for he didn’t 
know how much in fines, and he stood in no need of 
cheap advertisement. 

At this point, his temper getting the better of him, 
he put his head out of the window and demanded of 
a porter who chanced to be strolling past the reason of 
the delay. 

“ See here, why doesn’t this thing start ; it’s nearly 
seven minutes late ? ” 

“ No, sir,” was the stolid answer, “ it’s due off in 
a minute now; time-tables alter in May, sir. You’ve 
looked it out in a back number.” 

Garston sat down fuming; it would have been bad 
if it had been the company’s fault, being his own made 
it much worse. 

At last they were off, and the smooth and rapid 
motion combined with the smoking of a cigarette began 


8 


CHERRY ISLE 


to calm the young man’s temper, and by the time 
Hendon was reached he was nearly in his normal frame 
of mind of general satisfaction with himself and the 
world at large. 

A good lunch finished the process, and by the time 
Bedford was passed he had forgotten his irritation. 

He leaned back in the carriage, watching rather 
dreamily the fair and pleasant country through which 
the train was passing. The country hedges were 
white with hawthorn, the crab apple trees raised their 
crests dressed in daintiest pink and white, the fields 
were white with daisies, and here and there a patch 
of blue-bells gleamed like a scrap Of fallen sky; and 
the cowslips raised their heads on the banks past which 
the train was gliding. 

It was lovely, it was peaceful, but presently he would 
pass into the land where commerce had touched all the 
beauties of God with smoke-grimed hand — and then he 
would go to sleep; at present it was worth keeping 
awake just to see England in her late spring garments. 

Ah, the cherry orchards now, lovelier and richer 
if less dainty than the early apple blossoms! 

And as Garston leaned forward and gazed with 
delighted eyes on the trees, the train gradually slowed 
up, and then stopped, although there was no station 
in sight. He put his head out of the window, and all 
the passengers in the other compartments did the 
same. 

A guard explained that there had been an accident 
further down the line, that the signals were against 
them, and that although a gang of workmen was clear- 


CHERRY ISLE 


9 

ing the line there would certainly be a delay of two 
hours, perhaps more. 

Two hours! Garston looked at his watch. He 
would just have time to keep his engagement; in the 
meantime he would go for a walk and have tea some- 
where. 

He climbed up the bank, scrambled through the 
hedge and found himself in a quiet road, which he 
crossed; then climbing over a stile, he struck into a 
footpath. 

The east wind, that part and parcel of an English 
spring, was blowing very gently, and its fresh sweet- 
ness and chilliness played about the head of the famous 
singer as he strolled onwards. 

Up one hill, down another, and then into the land 
of cherry trees. A small, thatched farm peeped out 
from a little copse of ash trees, and before him orchard 
after orchard stretched away over the gently sloping 
hill and crowning the summit seemed to melt into the 
wind-swept blue sky. 

“ This will do,” said Garston to himself ; “ no one 
else seems to have come along this way, and I can 
have tea and go back again.” 

Still walking slowly, for the air was too lovely to 
waste a moment in hurrying through it, the singer 
strolled along under the trees, and opening a little 
gate, made his way up to the farm. It was all as it 
should be, latticed windows, thatched roof, climbing 
plants and primroses. 

Garston stamped on the stone before the door, and 
immediately the latter was opened by a young and 


10 CHERRY ISLE 

comely woman, who looked at him with surprise in her 
gray blue eyes. 

“ What are you pleased to want, sir ? ” she asked. 

“ The express has to halt for about two hours/’ he 
said genially, “ and your cherry land looked so lovely 
that I came through it in search of tea. Could you 
let me have some — just anything? ” 

“ We don’t provide tea,” retorted the young woman, 
haughtily; “ if you want tea you must go down to the 
village.” 

“ But I haven’t time,” explained Garston patiently, 
“ and I particularly want to see how tea tastes when 
drunk beneath these lovely trees.” 

Into the woman’s eyes there came a gleam of amuse- 
ment. 

“ It’ll taste the same as in the village,” she said 
quickly; “ we all buy it from the same place. You 
can walk right on under these trees, sir, and you can’t 
miss the inn.” 

“You are cruel,” said Charles Garston reproach- 
fully, “ here am I asking, in this land of delight, for 
tea, and you send me away. I won’t pay for it, if that 
would make you feel better. Why Herrick himself 
must have lived here when he wrote his song.” 

And then Garston, half because the day was so 
lovely, half because he wanted his tea just at this par- 
ticular moment in this particular place, began to sing 
softly: 

Cherry-ripe, ripe, ripe I cry, 

Full and fair ones, come and buy. 

If so be you ask me where 
They do grow t I answer, There , 


CHERRY ISLE 


ii 


Where my Julia’s lips do smile. 

There’s the land of cherry isle , 

Whose plantations fully show 
All the year, where cherries grow. 

He sang through the verses half under his breath, 
and as he sang he forgot his tea, and looked up at the 
masses of white blossom above him. 

When he had finished the song he turned round. 
The young woman was leaning against the door, her 
eyelids lowered, and her whole face alive with delight. 
Behind stood a tall, well-grown young man, dressed 
roughly in shirt and trousers ; he had placed one hand 
on the woman’s shoulder and the smile on his face was 
one of sheer bliss. 

Garston waited, both pleased and touched. 

The woman looked up at him, and her eyes were 
moist with tears of pleasure. 

“ You shall have tea, sir, under the tree with the 
thickest blossoms,” she said ; “ in fact you shall have 
as many teas as you like. I never heard any one sing 
like that before.” 

“ You’re welcome to the best we have,” added the 
young man. “ My wife and I,” and his voice was full 
of dignified hospitality, “ are but farming folk; but we 
love music, and as the wife says, we’ve never heard 
any one sing like that.” 

Garston colored with sensitive pleasure, and said 
rather shyly: 

“ It’s awfully good of you. I’ve a most important 
engagement to sing to-night in Manchester, and I 


12 


CHERRY ISLE 


shan't have time to dine, you see, now that the train 
is delayed ; but tea will be just the thing for my voice.’' 

“ You’re a professional singer, then, sir? ” said the 
young man respectfully. 

“ Yes,” said Garston, but he did not volunteer his 
name, and the man did not ask it. 

The woman had disappeared into the interior of the 
house, and a sound of hurried movement indicated that 
she was preparing a meal. 

The young man brought out a little round table, and 
said cheerfully to Garston: 

“ Now, sir, choose your tree.” 

Garston solemnly walked down the garden path into 
the orchard, and looked about him for a moment. 

“ This one will do,” he said, “ and I’ll take this gar- 
den seat if I may. I don’t want to sit on an ordinary 
chair.” 

“All right, sir ; but it's rather heavy,” answered the 
young farmer. 

“ Oh, I’m up to that much,” Garston said, still 
solemnly ; “ it’s only big enough for two.” 

“Yes, sir,” said the man, placing the table in posi- 
tion. “And now you only want a young lady to sit 
beside you and then it would be perfect.” 

“Ah ! ” said Garston, putting down the seat, “ that’s 
where you make a mistake. As long as I wanted a 
lady I should be happy, but when she came to sit beside 
me I should probably not want her any more.” 

“ It’s your mistake, sir,” answered the man quickly, 
and flushing as he spoke; “to have the right woman 
by you is the best thing the world can give. I should 


CHERRY ISLE 


13 


know, for my wife in there is as good as they’re made, 
and I’ve been married the best part of a year now.” 
The man’s voice grew rather husky as he finished 
speaking. 

“ You’re in luck, you see,” said Garston; “ I am 
always meeting women who don’t care for anything 
besides themselves. I’ve never yet seen the woman 
whom I felt I could really love.” 

“ Your time’s to come, sir,” said the man cheerfully ; 
“ here’s Bessie with the tea now.” 

Garston sat back in his chair, watching Bessie San- 
ders as she laid the cloth deftly. 

The crockery was of the old willow pattern, and 
the spoons were thin old silver. 

“ I’ve given you the best tea things, sir,” Bessie said 
brightly, “ and the old spoons ; if I had gold ones you 
should have them, for you sing that lovely; I’ve never 
heard the like.” 

“ Thank you,” said Garston, smiling up at the 
woman, “ I like to hear you say that. What a lovely 
tea you’ve given me, and now I’ve half an hour before 
I have to go back to that stupid train. I should have 
been in plenty of time if I had caught a later one, only 
I always like to rest before I sing.” 

“If you want anything more, you’ve only got to 
call,” said Bessie, retreating as she spoke. 

“ I couldn’t want anything besides this,” said Gar- 
ston, looking with real satisfaction on the plenteously 
spread table before him — two eggs, jam, tea, cream, 
and a lovely home-made cake. 

Bessie Sanders retreated to her kitchen : her husband 


14 CHERRY ISLE 

was waiting at the door to speak to her before he went 
back to his work. 

“ He's a great man, is yon, Bessie," he said rather 
wistfully; “what wouldn't I give to hear him sing 
again." 

“Ah, Jim," said Bessie, “ it acts on you like — like 
magic — fair turns you round. I hate the sound of me 
own voice, and the way the words come out of me 
after I've heard him. His voice has been dipped in 
honey." 

“ Well, call me when he goes," said Sanders ; “ one 
kiss, Bessie girl ! If he's got a voice that's been dipped 
in honey, I've a wife who is honey." 

Bessie's blue-gray eyes gave her husband one quick 
loving glance, as she rested her head against his shoul- 
der for a minute, and then nodded cheerfully as he 
went back into the garden. 


CHAPTER II 


Love in a shower of blossoms came 
Down , and half -drowned me with the same. 

— Herrick. 

Garston ate his tea slowly, for the moments were 
too perfect to waste in hurrying. He was seated at 
the little table with his back towards the farm; all be- 
fore him and about him stood the cherry trees, and 
here and there glimpses of the deep May-blue sky could 
be seen amongst the branches. 

The air, fresh and sunny, with just that touch of 
keenness that the young love but which makes the 
elderly and middle-aged draw their mufflers round 
them, blew about the fortunate man's head, and he 
leaned back in his chair and let the delight of life 
soothe all his senses. 

Then, through one of the openings, he saw an 
avenue with a background of blue to it. Along the 
avenue a woman was coming. 

She was walking very slowly and she held her hat 
in her hand ; the sunlight dancing through the branches 
of the cherry trees fell in glittering cascades upon her 
copper-colored hair. 

Garston examined her with the critical eye of a man 

15 


i6 


CHERRY ISLE 


of the world who appraises women’s looks, as he does 
other merchandise of life. 

She was tall and thin, her traveling cloak was of a 
sombre shade of green, and as the fronts fell back, 
they revealed glimpses of a dress of dull blue under- 
neath. 

The hand that held the hat was gloveless, and the 
fingers were long and thin. Garston had first taken in 
all the details of her costume: they would tell him 
something of the woman. The face would tell him 
much less, for the face is always a mask. 

She was now almost within speaking distance, and 
the sunlight fell on her face. She was pale and the 
lines of her face were clearly outlined. The forehead 
was broad and the hair was gathered away from it, 
showing the whole of the brow; the eyebrows were 
well marked, but as the eyelids were lowered the color 
of the eyes could not be seen. The lips were rather 
thin, and the mouth inclined to severity; altogether 
the lower part of the face was less pleasing than the 
upper. 

She came on in such seeming unconsciousness that 
Garston suspected she knew he was there ; but whether 
she knew or not, her carriage was absolutely perfect 
and pleased the man’s aesthetic taste very thoroughly. 

He leaned back, waiting for the moment when she 
must raise her eyes. 

A slight increase in the wind sent the petals from 
the blossoms over her head and shoulders, and looking 
up she brushed them from her hair and saw the man 
sitting at the tea table. 


CHERRY ISLE 


17 

He made a movement as if to rise, and she bent her 
head and said rather quickly: 

“ I beg your pardon if I am trespassing, but could 
you tell me where I could get some tea? The train 
by which I was traveling has broken down and there’ll 
be at least another half-hour’s delay.” 

“ We are fellow-sufferers, then, as well as fellow- 
travelers, Madam,” Garston said courteously, getting 
up as he spoke. “ I have been given tea as a favor ; 
but I beg another one, and that is that you will take 
my place. The tea is, I think, in excellent condition, 
and not more stewed than is to be expected.” 

He bowed again and moved slowly away. 

“ Stop, stop,” she cried, “ where are you going? If 
you will share your tea with me I shall be grateful, but 
if you desert your food I shall doubt its quality.” 

Garston bowed again, and striding across the grass 
fetched a very rickety-looking stool ; coming back with 
it, he placed it by the table and then waving his hand 
towards the seat, said gravely: 

“ This is a fairy-land, the fairy land of Cherry 
Isle, I think. Therefore pour me out my tea. There 
is a teacup for you, and if we empty the sugar basin 
it will do for me.” 

The girl hesitated a moment, and then laughed, 
showing strong white teeth. 

“ It’s very unconventional,” she said, “ but the east 
wind and the spring in the air are accountable and not 
I. Besides, I’m hungry, and we haven’t long before 
that stupid train starts again.” 

She sat down in the seat Garston had just vacated 


18 


CHERRY ISLE 


and in a few minutes she was eating as if really hun- 
gry. They talked of the cherry trees, and of the train, 
and then the girl leaned forward and said quietly: 

“ I do not think I am being quite fair ; of course, I 
know you, Mr. Garston.” 

Charles Garston frowned uneasily and said in a 
quick, irritable voice : 

“ I want to forget that for a moment: I’m only the 
man in Cherry Isle who offers refreshment to weary 
travelers.” 

“ I beg your pardon, mine host,” said the girl, and 
as she spoke Garston caught sight of her eyes for the 
first time: the lashes were long and thick, and he 
had only been able to gather a general impression of 
darkness; and now a thrill passed through his whole 
frame. 

For the girl had one dark blue eye and one dark 
brown. 

The man was drinking his tea from the sugar basin, 
the girl hers from the cup, and as she saw his aston- 
ishment, which, despite all his breeding, leaped into 
every line of his face, her cup slipped from her hand 
and fell on to the grass. She said nothing, however, 
and Garston, glad of the interruption, stooped down 
and picked up the cup which, fortunately — since it was 
Bessie Sanders' best service — was unbroken. Then 
very slowly he put it on the table, and horribly con- 
scious of his bad manners, and shocked at his own 
lapse of good breeding, and yet literally unable to 
think of anything to say in a natural manner, he pulled 
out his watch and said stiffly: 


CHERRY ISLE 


19 

“ I think we may allow ourselves another quarter of 
an hour, but longer will be unsafe.” 

No answer. 

Charles Garston moved a little uneasily, but said 
industriously: 

“ I wonder what the other poor wretches did — I ex- 
pect all the old ladies encamped along the line; what 
do you think? ” 

Still no answer. 

Garston’s gaze was rigidly fixed upon his com- 
panion’s plate, and he was inwardly cursing him- 
self. 

Then, on to that plate, a big tear fell with a tiny 
little splash. 

The man looked up. 

She was sitting perfectly still. Over her naturally 
pale face a deadly whiteness had crept, the long thick 
lashes were once more sheltering the strange dissimilar 
eyes, but the lips were not trembling, although a second 
tear was slowly rolling after the first. 

Then Charles Garston acted on impulse and, there- 
fore, naturally. 

He rose from his chair, was round the table in a 
second, and bending over her, took her cold hand in his 
and kissed it, saying eagerly, earnestly, and with per- 
fect sincerity: 

“ Please don’t! I'm the biggest cad going. Your 
eyes are unusual, but I think they are absolutely lovely, 
and they make you look like no other girl I’ve ever 
seen. I couldn’t think why you attracted me so; I 
thought at first it was your copper-colored hair, but it 


20 CHERRY ISLE 

is not that altogether ; and now you will never look at 
me again. ,, 

The girl gasped and then with a little tremor in her 
voice said: 

“ I can’t help them ; they always startle people, and 
you looked as if you had seen an apparition. I feel 
awfully nervy to-day.” 

“ Why ? ” asked Garston quickly ; “ please tell me ! ” 

“ I’m a singer,” she answered ; “ oh, not like you. 
I’m no one at all; but I have a small solo to-night at 
Manchester, only a line or so, and it is the very first 
time I’ve ever done anything in a big concert, and I’m 
fearfully worried. I shall succeed in the end,” and 
her voice grew cold and hard, “ but I should like to 
succeed in the beginning.” 

Charles Garston stood up. 

“ You will succeed, and soon. Your lips say so, as 
well by their shape as by the words they have uttered. 
But I think we should be walking back now ; we must 
not lose that train, you know.” 

“ No,” she agreed. 

She stood up and shook herself, with a queer lithe 
movement, like a shudder, and the few cherry blossoms 
that still clung to her copper-colored hair fell on to the 
table, one settling on Garston’s white hand, long fin- 
gered, and religiously manicured. 

He picked it up with his other hand, and rather 
absently placed it in his pocket, saying: 

“ I will pay the reckoning whilst you go on down 
the orchards.” 

The girl nodded, and with the same quick gliding 


CHERRY ISLE 21 

movement walked away, and the cherry trees soon hid 
her from sight. 

“ Half snake, half maiden, wholly strange and, I 
should say, a perfect actress,” Garston thought to him- 
self. 

“ Her entry was perfect, her exit perfection, but the 
eyes, by Jove, they did startle me. And yet I should 
like to see them again — dark blue and dark brown, 
and the blue one looked as if it could change into 
all shades of blue from England’s summer sky to 
Geneva’s lake.” 

The farmer and his wife were standing by their 
door, the well-built, sturdy young man, and his comely 
blue-gray-eyed wife. How deliciously in harmony it 
all was. 

Harmony — it was the key-note to the singer’s tem- 
perament and character. 

Bessie Sanders spoke before Garston was within 
what he considered to be speaking distance: 

“ Now, sir, I know what you are going to say, but 
the song more than paid for what you’ve had, and we’d 
be proud if you’d come again if you are passing.” 

Her blue-gray eyes softened as she spoke, for one 
of the peculiar attractions of Garston’s voice was that 
it lived in sound in the memories of those who heard 
it, and his notes seemed to be falling again on the clear 
cold air. 

“ I must thank you then,” and Garston held out his 
smooth white hand. “ I have had a delightful meal, 
and a unique revelation from Nature herself. I will 
come again if I may.” 


22 


CHERRY ISLE 


The workers’ hands were clasped in turn by the suc- 
cessful singer, and raising his hat, he turned away and 
hurried down the avenue of trees. 

The blossoms were as lovely as when he had passed 
an hour earlier; they contrasted as wonderfully as 
before in their sweet colored pink and white with the 
young green of the leaves ; but Garston had a worry- 
ing vision of blue and brown before him. He really 
must see those eyes again. Who had ever heard of 
such a thing before? She need not have hurried so, 
and he did not even know her name. 

He wondered if she could sing. Her speaking voice 
was attractive enough. Well, if she couldn’t sing, she 
looked as if she could, at least, make listeners think she 
could. 

What on earth had happened to her ? 

There was the line at last, and there she was stand- 
ing by the stile ; but, Good Lord ! where was the train ? 

Startled out of all his ordinary calm, he strode rap- 
idly up to the girl. She was breathing in quick gasps, 
her face was quite white, and she spoke in a high voice, 
vibrating with pain: 

“ It’s gone — the train’s gone ! It was just starting 
as I came down the hill, and I waved and called; but 
it’s gone, it’s gone ! ” 

“ Good Lord! ” ejaculated Garston again. 

“ What’s the good of taking it like that? she asked 
indignantly ; “ think of something at once.” 

“ I — I ” he began rather feebly. 

She turned away and flung her hands out: 

“ Oh, it doesn’t matter to you! Missing a big en- 


CHERRY ISLE 


23 


gagement will only enhance your reputation; but 
to me it’s ruin, and it was my first, and now — and 
now ” 

Silence. 

Garston wondered if she would cry. No, her white 
teeth were biting cruelly into the rather thin lower 
lip; but the strange eyes held no tears beneath the 
habitually lowered lids. 

The man spoke gloomily: 

“ It’s jolly awkward for you, but it’s very bad for 
me. I’ve never missed an engagement before! Just 
think what a howling mess they will make of it with- 
out me” 

The girl flashed round on him: 

“ You are utterly selfish — think of me for a mo- 
ment.” 

Garston was rapidly losing his temper. What on 
earth did her trumpery part matter, when his was at 
stake? But women were all alike, they only thought 
of themselves. 

He spoke very stiffly: 

“ I can only suggest that we follow the line until we 
come to the nearest station, and then perhaps we may 
be able to find a car to take us on. It will be expensive 
and tiring, and we shall have to exceed the speed limit ; 
but perhaps we can get to a station where the next 
express stops. We should still be in time.” 

Inwardly he began to curse. 

“ Then come at once,” ordered the girl imperiously, 
and in a moment she was over the stile, down the side 
of the bank and hurrying down the four-foot way. 


CHERRY ISLE 


24 

He followed more leisurely. What a fool ending 
it was to a perfect little episode ! By Jove, she needn’t 
tear along like that, and since he did not know her 
name it was awkward. 

“ Hi, Miss!”; “ Stop, Madam!”: either form of 
address would sound boorish. 

He hurried, covering the ground more rapidly now 
than she did. 

“ I think you might tell me your name,” he began 
in rather aggrieved tones, as he came abreast of 
her. 

She turned her head towards him, a glint of color 
showing under the lowered lids. 

“ Certainly,” she answered, “ but I never thought of 
doing it before. My name is Anthea Argent.” 

“ How strange!” he said, bowing. “ We seem to 
have fallen into the land of Herrick’s poetry this after- 
noon.” 

“ Do you think we shall catch a train ? ” she de- 
manded. “And please do not walk there. Do go 
either before or behind me; I feel convinced that a 
train will come up and kill you.” 

“ The traffic would be in a state of considerable dis- 
organization if such an event were to happen,” he said, 
smiling at her, “ for I am walking on the up-line, and 
all trains on that line come towards us.” 

“ One never knows,” she answered nervously ; 
“please do come away from the line. I should never 
find my way now by myself.” 

Garston gave her an indignant glance, thinking to 
himself: “What a callous-minded brute! If I got 


CHERRY ISLE 


25 

chopped to pieces, she would never find her way, and 
that’s all she cares.” 

However, he complied with her wishes, and stalked 
in high dudgeon before her. 

And in single file they made their way to the station. 


CHAPTER III 


Music , thou queen of Heaven , care charming spell , 
That strik’st a stillness into hell; 

Thou that tam’st tigers, and fierce storms that rise, 
With thy soul-melting lullabies; 

Fall down, down, down, from those thy shining spheres 
To charm our souls, as those enchant our ears. 

— Herrick. 

The conductor-manager was tearing his hair, which 
hung in tight ringlets round a big bald patch of cra- 
nium, and as he pulled and tore, the patch grew alter- 
nately red and white, to the fascination of the call-boy 
who stood by the door waiting instructions. 

“ Garston will be here in ten minutes, but the show 
is going to rack and ruin,” he groaned. “ Pve had to 
change the items like an amateur at a chess board. 
Miss Argent, too! That solo bit has had to be done 
by Madam Berenice. * Car broken down,’ he says, 
and then that fool telephone must needs bust up as 
well.” 

He stamped violently, and as he did so Charles 
Garston came into the room in his usual leisurely 
manner, and Anthea Argent followed him a second or 
two afterwards. 

“Awfully sorry to put you about like this,” said 
26 


CHERRY ISLE 


27 

Garston rather loftily. Anthea noticed that his man- 
ner was an altogether new one, and she also observed 
that all the arrogance slid away from the conductor- 
manager’s face at once. 

“ No matter, no matter, Mr. Garston,” said the 
other; “ you are just in time, and no one knows of 
your non-appearance. Cars are tiresome things. Ah ! 
good-evening, Miss Argent. I’m sorry to say we had 
to put forward the scene from La Bo heme in which 
you were to appear, and so we shan’t want you to- 
night.” 

“ What ? ” Anthea’s voice went thin suddenly. 
“ You mean that I’ve lost my chance? ” 

“ Oh, you’1'1 have another,” the conductor said, care- 
lessly. “ Now, Mr. Garston, the second part will be 
due in ten minutes, and your item is first.” 

But Charles Garston was watching Anthea. 

She was standing perfectly still, so still that he could 
hardly see her breathe. 

And then she turned suddenly and looked at him. 

Her strange eyes were blazing, and the passion in 
them blent them to a tawny color. 

Charles Garston faced the manager. 

“ You transposed the items, I see,” he said grimly. 

“ Yes, Mr. Garston.” 

“ Please oblige me by giving Miss Argent this solo.” 
And he pointed with one slim finger to one of the most 
important songs of the evening. 

“ Out of the question, Mr. Garston,” was the prompt 
reply ; “ Miss Argent is quite unprepared for work of 
this sort.” 


28 


CHERRY ISLE 


“ Are you ? ” Garston looked at the girl. 

“ If you give me that song, I will sing it as you have 
never heard it sung before.” Anthea’s voice was still 
thin, but her eyes seemed to change color as she faced 
the great singer. 

“ Then please arrange it so,” said Garston, making a 
movement toward his pocket, which the manager per- 
fectly well understood. 

“ But Madame Lavago,” he stammered, “ what will 
she say ? ” 

“I will speak to her. Yes, all right; I’m ready,” 
and Charles Garston nodded to the call-boy and dis- 
appeared through the door. 

“ I congratulate you, Miss Argent,” said the man- 
ager. “ Mr. Garston must think very highly of your 
— (a significant pause) — talent, to be ready to vouch 
for you in this manner.” 

Anthea turned her face towards the man, but the 
strange eyes were hidden beneath their lids and long 
lashes once again. 

“ I shall justify his opinion, I assure you,” she said 
coldly ; “ and moreover I will sing another song as an 
encore.” 

“ Perhaps you will like to come to the side of the 
platform and hear Mr. Garston,” suggested the man- 
ager politely. 

“ Thank you!” 

With a stiff bow she preceded the man from the 
room. 

He followed her, grinning rather unpleasantly and 
thinking: 


CHERRY ISLE 


29 


“ I’ve never known Garston so ready to put himself 
about before. She walks well, and I hope she’ll sing 
well. The Lavago has a cold, I know, so perhaps 
Garston will be able to arrange matters. She certainly 
plays her cards well. She’s hooked Charlie, that’s 
plain.” 

When they had reached the floor at the side of the 
platform, Garston’ s voice broke upon the silence. 

Not a sound, not a movement, came from the vast 
audience. 

Anthea forgot herself and her ambitions, and heard 
only the glorious voice, as it rose and fell in strong 
sweet melody. 

The manager listened with a professional ear, and 
watched her at the same time. 

She had forgotten everything but Garston’s voice, 
and her strange eyes were wide open, gazing into a 
heaven of sound. 

“ That’s it,” the manager thought, giving a tug at 
his curls, and causing the bald patch to change color; 
“ that’s it ! Why, she won’t need a voice with those 
eyes ! What the dickens made her hide them when I 
saw her before, I can’t conceive. Rut it’s the Halls 
she should be on. There would be an opening for her 
there, and no mistake.” 

Clear and full Garston’s mellow voice rose and fell. 

He looked as if he were completely unconscious of 
the effect he was producing; in reality the practical 
side of him was often uppermost when he was singing 
most divinely. 

And to-night, as he carried his audience up into the 


CHERRY ISLE 


30 

seventh heaven, he was wondering what had made him 
act in such a wild manner. 

Supposing she made a fool of herself — supposing 
her voice went thin in singing, as it had done in speak- 
ing — supposing she broke down ! . . . There 

would just be time to settle the matter with Madame 
Lavago; if she refused to give up her solo to Miss 
Argent he would wash his hands of the whole affair. 
He had been a fool to meddle in the matter. 

His voice, gathering in beauty, rose to the climax 
of the song, and then ceased. 

A quick tense silence, and then thunderous applause. 

The singer very rarely responded to the demand for 
encores, and he had bowed and disappeared long before 
the first burst of clapping had died away. 

Would Madame Lavago see him? 

Possibly, but Madame was distraught. She had 
sneezed, and was now weeping. Perhaps Monsieur 
would be able to soothe her, for in truth Madame was 
beside herself. And the French maid announced 
“ Mr. Garston ” in joy-bell tones. 

Madame Lavago was stout, but comely. She sat 
on a sofa, holding a dainty handkerchief to her eyes, 
and her plump shoulders and fat white arms shook like 
jelly with emotion. 

She had been discovered in South America, and she 
had pleased the public now for several seasons. Her 
voice was a perfectly trained instrument that obeyed 
every command. She could run up and down the 
gamut as a mouse can run up and down a stick ladder, 
and every one was very proud of her; needless to say, 


CHERRY ISLE 


3i 

she was very proud of herself. And what more could 
be desired either by every one or by herself ? 

“ Oh, Mr. Garston,” she quavered musically, “ I 
have a cold and I have to sing in ten minutes ; what, 
oh what shall I do ? ” 

“ I heard of your misfortune,” said Charles, salut- 
ing the fat hand, “ and I have come to tell you that I 
will either sing in your place or find a substitute, and 
to serve you ” he paused expressively. 

Madame Lavago clasped her hands together in an 
ecstasy of thankfulness, but words were denied to her 
for a sneeze more in keeping with her physical propor- 
tions than with the customs of polite society shook her 
with painful force. 

She waved her hand in despairing farewell, and 
Garston withdrew. 

The gods were with him so far. 

The manager met him as he came out of the door. 

" Madame Lavago has a cold and prefers not to 
sing. I have promised to find a substitute,” he said 
abruptly. 

“ Miss Argent is ready,” nodded the manager ; “ I 
will go and make the announcement.” 

Anthea stood waiting. 

Perfunctory applause of a few seconds’ duration 
sounded from the audience. 

And then she was facing them. 

The first moment to the one who stands alone be- 
fore thousands is indescribable. Millions of eyes seem 
to project themselves on long feelers from the heads of 
trillions of men and women. 


32 


CHERRY ISLE 


The audience may be shuffling, but the one only 
hears the silence. The opening bars of music seem to 
sound for many minutes, and then the last note comes 
with a fearful rush. 

Charles Garston, sitting well back in the manager’s 
box, held his breath. He saw a slight quiver pass 
over the girl’s face. Was she going to break down? 
. . . And then she began to sing automatically. 

The quality that had pleased Garston in her speaking 
voice had gone. It was correct, but thin. 

The song was only two verses in length. A few 
claps here and there and a shuffling of disapproval. 
Anthea bowed slightly, and then gave a despairing look 
over the audience. Her eyes suddenly met Garston’s. 
The man was an artist, and that glance told him much 
of Anthea Argent’s soul. 

Looking straight into those extraordinary eyes of 
hers, he clapped his hands noiselessly. Anthea moved 
back, then spoke in an undertone to the accompanist. 

He hesitated, but the spell of her personality com- 
pelled him, and he began to play the song the name of 
which she had mentioned to the manager. 

She stood again before the vast audience, and over 
them passed an invisible wave. As the wind moves 
over the corn fields, and the waving grasses bow to 
their unseen Master, so some occult force emanating 
from the thin figure standing perfectly still compelled 
their attention. 

The first expression on the faces before her had 
been one of contemptuous astonishment. Now it 
changed to expectancy, and every unit of that vast 


CHERRY ISLE 


33 

concourse waited for the first note of the voice they 
had rejected five minutes before. 

It broke upon the silence — full, and deep and low, 
and sweet beyond all telling. All the color left Charles 
Garston’ s lips and face as he listened. 

Down into a sea of melody he was drawn — a sea 
where waves were made of perfect harmonies whose 
echoes sounded in sobbing ripples of great memories 
and highest aspirations, whose depths seemed un- 
fathomable, and whose touch to his soul was cool and 
lingering. Well has that most wonderful race of all 
races — the Hebrew — taught us, in its glorious poetry 
and its prophetic visions, that in Heaven there is con- 
tinual music and multitudes of voices everlastingly 
chanting, harmony rising from harmony, mellowing 
into exultation and passing into whisperings to rise 
again in wild outbursts of sound. 

And as Anthea sang Charles Garston knew 
Heaven. . . . 

And then it was over; the echo of the voice had 
died away. Anthea had bowed and gone; and wild 
applause and tumultuous calls fell unheeded upon Gar- 
ston’s ears. He had heard a voice which completely 
satisfied his soul. 

He was roused from his reverie by the somewhat 
excited entrance of the conductor-manager. 

“ Good Lord ! Mr. Garston,” he began, pulling at his 
curls so vigorously that the bald patch became a chalky 
white, “ you’ve found a diamond mine. I never heard 
anything like it before. She has gone straight into my 
room, has locked the door, and I think has had a fit. 


34 


CHERRY ISLE 


We heard an awful bang, then a sort of groan, and 
now I can’t get an answer. Shall I send for a doctor, 
or ask Madame Lavago to look after her ? ” 

Charles Garston gazed at the man and smiled. 

“ I will go and speak to her,” he said. " We don’t 
go and have fits, my dear fellow, just because our sing- 
ing is appreciated.” 


CHAPTER IV 


What can I do in poetry 

Now the good spirit’s gone from me? 

Why nothing now hut lonely sit 
And over read what I have writ. 

—Herrick. 

Charles Garston went quickly to the manager’s 
room, knocked at the door, turned the handle, and, 
nothing hindering him, went in. 

Anthea was sitting by the table reading a news- 
paper. 

She made a slight movement, but otherwise did not 
disturb herself beyond saying: 

“ Is that you, Mr. Garston? ” 

“ Yes,” and then Charles came and stood by the 
mantelpiece, looked down at the quiet still figure, and 
laughed lightly: “ Poor old Phipps thought you 
were ill.” 

Anthea moved her head with a slight disdainful 
gesture: 

“ He is extraordinarily fussy. I came in here feel- 
ing absolutely done up, and stumbled over a footstool. 
In a rage I kicked it along the floor, and he must 
needs hammer on the door, and ask me if I was ill. 
I nearly swore at him. Thank heaven, I had just 
strength enough left to lock the door.” 

“ I suppose you did groan though.” Charles Gar- 
35 


36 CHERRY ISLE 

stores voice was still lightly amused, though his face 
was pale. 

“ Groan — of course I did,” she said angrily, but 
the eyes were well covered once again, and she added 
abruptly: 

“ Well, have I satisfied you, O great singer? ” 

“ Much more than satisfied,” he answered with en- 
thusiasm. “ I have never heard a voice in the course 
of my whole life that I preferred to my own until to- 
night. Thank goodness that you are a woman, other- 
wise my position as first voice in Europe would be 
jeopardized. You have ‘ arrived/ and your success 
is more than assured.” 

He held out his hand, and Anthea put hers within 
it; he felt it cold and, as he pressed it, it seemed to 
tremble. 

And then she looked up at him, with her strange 
eyes; they were not full of tears, as he had thought 
they might be, but they were burning gloomily with a 
smouldering indignation, a hopeless defiance. 

“Yes,” she said savagely, and once again her voice 
was thin. “ Yes, but that voice comes and goes, and 
sometimes for weeks together I never hear it. Nature 
has dealt harshly with me, and I am in revolt.” 

The man singer, absolutely assured of his own 
powers, was moved with genuine sympathy, and he 
showed it when he answered : 

“ Have you consulted surgeons, have you trained, 
and dieted — there must be some reason for such 
changes.” 

“ Tve been to every one, and done everything,” she 


CHERRY ISLE 


37 

answered desperately. “ I’ve spent all my spare 
money, and all I couldn’t spare. My mother’s voice 
was the same, only worse; sometimes it absolutely 
went, and I believe my grandmother’s was just the 
same. One big surgeon said it was hereditary, some 
weakness of the vocal chords, but that it would prob- 
ably wear itself out in several generations.” 

“ Operation?” suggested Charles Garston. 

“ No.” 

Anthea turned away, and went to the window. 

“ There’s nothing to be done,” said she, “ and I will 
conquer yet; that voice which is my real voice shall 
come when I command.” 

She seemed to have forgotten for the moment that 
she was speaking to Garston ; her thin figure was held 
tensely, and the lips closed on one another with un- 
bending severity. 

“ I wonder,” thought the man to himself, “ if she is 
acting, or acting naturally; anyway she is the queerest 
woman I’ve ever come across — and that voice — ye 
gods ! ” Out loud he said: 

“ I expect it is a case of nerves ; when you are more 
used to success you will have your voice at your com- 
mand.” 

“ Do you think so ? ” and Anthea turned round 
eagerly, looking straight up at him; “if I really 
thought that I shouldn’t mind so much.” 

Garston’s keen blue eyes met hers, and he felt that 
he had taken the second step in his knowledge of her, 
and he spoke out his discovery, watching her keenly 
as he did so. 


CHERRY ISLE 


38 

“ You are almost bound to succeed, for you are a 
perfect actress; you seem to know the full value of 
every gesture. There is only one thing you do not 
seem to realize.” 

“ What is that ? ” and again the strange eyes sought 
his. 

“ You only look at me when you forget yourself,” 
he said slowly. “ But you do not know that your 
eyes are your most powerful weapon. When you are 
acting you lower your lids. You must learn to con- 
trol that. Forgive me, but I am an actor, and have 
lived on the stage, you know.” 

Anthea drew a deep breath, blinked, and then, with 
an effort, looked at him again, and broke into a sweet 
low laugh; 

“ You are the first person who has ever found that 
out, but I have been so jeered at for these same eyes 
of mine that I almost hate them, and as for acting, I 
seem to be always acting.” 

“ Where did you get them ? ” 

Garston came and stood by her. 

A discreet knock at this instant sounded at the door, 
and the conductor-manager entered. 

“A million congratulations, Miss Argent,” he be- 
gan, advancing with hands outstretched. “ Two or 
three interviewers and newspaper men are waiting out- 
side. Yours has been the greatest success I have ever 
known.” 

Anthea bowed gravely, her eyes veiled again, and 
just touched one of the manager’s podgy hands with 
her thin cold one, but before she could speak, the man- 


CHERRY ISLE 


39 


ager was swept aside, and Madame Lavago flung her 
arms round Anthea, who was completely hidden in that 
capacious bosom. 

“ My sister, welcome to the throne of success ! ” 
cried the Lavago dramatically ; “ I hear from all sides 
that you are divine, and I and my cold have paved the 
way, the golden way.” 

Anthea submitted herself to the embrace. 

Madame Lavago looked at her, caught sight of 
her eyes, and, murmuring: “ I must go and rest,” 
swept from the room as suddenly as she had ap- 
peared. 

The manager had gone, and Garston and Anthea 
were once more alone. 

Anthea suddenly put her head down on the mantel- 
piece and burst into tears. 

“ Don’t, don’t, please don’t, Miss Argent,” the man 
exclaimed. 

But Anthea sobbed on, for a moment, and then 
looked up. 

“ I am utterly worn out. I must go to bed, or I 
shall be ill.” 

“ Where are you staying?” Garston asked, anx- 
iously. 

“I don’t know — somewhere cheap.” 

“ Cheap ? ” echoed Garston, in sheer astonishment, 
for somehow Anthea had not suggested poverty. 

“Yes, cheap,” she repeated, and then she took out 
her purse and emptied it on the table. 

“There — I’ve five shillings to pay for bed and 
breakfast. Until I’m paid for this song, I am at the 


40 


CHERRY ISLE 


end of my tether, and if I had not succeeded this time 
I should have killed myself.” 

She was not acting now, the strange eyes were 
flaming, and the whole face quivering. 

Charles Garston himself turned white ; he took out 
his purse, and held it out to Anthea, saying sternly: 

“ There’s about twenty-five pounds in it, and you 
are to take it at once. I’ll have no more fooling ; you 
are done up, poor child. I will drive with you to the 
hotel, and will engage rooms for you now on the tele- 
phone. Sit down and rest.” 

Forcing the purse into her hand, he left the room. 
Anthea put the purse on the table, and looked down at 
it, many expressions chasing each other over her mo- 
bile face. 

Then she drew herself up and spoke out loud, look- 
ing straight before her with wide open eyes. 

“ I have won,” she said, and the voice was rich and 
full ; “ I have won in two ways, as an artist and as a 
woman.” 


CHAPTER V 


There he in love as many fears 
As the summer corn has ears. 

— Herrick. 

Charles Garston had passed a restless night; 
moreover when he had slept he had dreamed, and as a 
consequence he was now sitting over a very late break- 
fast in a very bad temper, a rare occurrence with the 
successful world-loved and world-loving singer. 

Was he going to make a fool of himself? — had he 
already done so? What business had a woman to 
possess eyes like that and a voice that was just ordinary 
at one moment and divine the next ? How wonderful 
her hair was ! How regal her carriage ! What a con- 
summate actress! But it was a bit too much if he 
were going to have bad nights and bad dreams and 
spoil his perfect health just because a thin woman had 
looked at him with odd eyes. Curse that train and 
that fool of a conductor-manager. Phipps would 
chatter like a magpie, and the Lavago would sigh and 
wave her arms and look unspeakable things. Good 
Lord, she might even hint that he was serious: and 
that in his case would be more disastrous than if he 
were sinful. 

The coffee was vile. He wondered what sort of a 
notice the chief paper had given her. 

41 


42 


CHERRY ISLE 


At this point he pulled the pile of morning papers 
to him, and opened the first that came to hand. 

“ New Nightingale,” he read, “ Feminist Find. 
Miracle of Music. Dramatic Development.” Then 
followed a description of Anthea’ s performance, and 
an interview with her afterwards, where she was 
described as having dark hair and blue eyes, and a 
bonnie and winsome face, and not looking more than 
eighteen. 

The second paper followed on in the same style, the 
interview which she had apparently given this man be- 
ing of a most prolonged description, and including 
various stage stories. 

And so it went on through all the chief papers. 
Anthea had become the sensation of the hour. One 
great and powerful newspaper lord had happened to 
be present at the performance, and, being an excellent 
man of business even in his pleasure, had seen the 
possibility of a paying sensation, and had telephoned 
to one of his henchmen: 

“ Run her.” Hence the alliteration. 

Of course, Garston knew the real worth of the 
columns of praise, but he also knew the golden worth 
of it to Anthea, and for a moment jealousy sprang into 
fierce being, for his name had the correct number of 
lines devoted to it and — no more. 

He sat frowning heavily, and then suddenly the ill- 
temper passed from his face, and he smiled. 

“ It will do me good,” he murmured inaudibly, “ for 
1 introduced her, and man and woman cannot rival 
each other.” The memory of the music stole back 


CHERRY ISLE 


43 


upon his mind, and his eyes became dreamy as he 
thought; then to the memory of sound came back the 
memory of sight, and he beheld Anthea’ s haunting 
eyes, now fierce, now full of pain, eyes as of two souls 
looking out at him from one body, and the artist in 
him — and the man — dwelt with pleasure on the vision. 

A little later, and he was shown into Anthea’s pres- 
ence. 

She was sitting in an armchair surrounded by a sea 
of papers; her dress was the same dull blue, and Gar- 
ston with his quick eye for details noticed that she had 
altered it by some addition into a morning gown, in- 
stead of the semi-evening one it had been the night 
before, and something pathetic in this sign of poverty 
touched the successful young singer with a feeling 
dangerously akin to pity. 

Anthea rose to greet him, and a cascade of cut out 
columns fell from her lap as she did so. She held 
out her thin long-fingered hand, and smiled at him, a 
glint of color showing beneath her lowered lids. He 
bowed over it, with a slightly stagey air, and waving 
his hand towards the papers said: 

“ You must have sat up late last night, to give all 
those interviews.” 

Anthea sat down again, and answered quietly as she 
began to pick up her cuttings : 

“ I never saw any one at all. I was kept at the tele- 
phone for half an hour or so, and I answered various 
questions, but long ago I made up my mind never to 
give interviews.” 

“Why ever not?” asked Garston, helping her to 


44 


CHERRY ISLE 


pick up the fallen paragraphs; “you will find it part 
of your trade, and although the chief consideration 
with a singer should be the singing, yet the second must 
be the audience.” 

Anthea moved her head, and a faint color crept up 
into her pale face. 

“ No,” she said stiffly. “ I will interview over the 
telephone, and send my photograph to the papers, but 
I will not grant interviews.” 

“ You make a mistake,” he said softly, “ a great 
mistake; but I came to congratulate you, and to ask 
how you were after your triumph.” 

“ I have received several letters delivered by hand,” 
she said gravely; “ also a couple of telegrams. They 
are business offers. Will you tell me which I ought 
to accept?” * 

He took them from her, sat down by the table, and 
began to read. 

“ This Johnny seems to be forcing the pace,” he said 
lightly. 

Anthea leaned forward, and took the letter from 
his hand, glanced at it, tore it across evenly, and threw 
it into the fire, saying very quietly: 

“ I did not mean to give you that. I must have put 
it back into the wrong envelope.” 

Garston examined the contents of another envelope. 

“Ah, this is business, I see.” When he had read 
the several letters with business-like precision, he pro- 
ceeded to advise her. 

Anthea saw that to follow his advice would be to 
walk in the right way to permanent success, and she 


CHERRY ISLE 


45 

answered her letters according to his directions, prov- 
ing herself to be as apt a business woman as he was 
business man. And for about half an hour they 
worked together, he as master, she as pupil, and 
as smoothly as if they had been employer and 
employee. 

“ There,” he said as she signed her name to her 
last letter, “ I hope we’ve answered them all very 
wisely. It should be fairly smooth sailing for you 
now.” 

“ Thank you very, ^ery much,” Anthea answered 
warmly, “ you’ve helped me splendidly.” 

“ Shall we go out now and take a stroll, that is if 
we can do so without becoming niggers ? ” And 
Garston flicked a black speck off his immaculate cuff 
as he spoke. 

Anthea stood up, the color coming into her face, 
and her eyes wide open. 

“ I forgot,” she said bitterly, “ I quite forgot. Just 
supposing my own voice never comes back.” 

“ It’s nerves,” he answered ; “ nothing but nerves. 
Come out and forget all that nonsense; we’ll have 
lunch together, and then I must get back to London. 
Weren’t those cherry orchards lovely?” 

“ I shall never forget them,” and Anthea’s voice be- 
came richer as she spoke. “Above all else, I shall 
always remember your voice coming to me through 
the cherry blossoms; it will echo always in my mind, 
for it is to you that I owe my success.” 

Her voice trembled a little. 

“ Please don’t. Miss Argent,” said Charles, hastily. 


CHERRY ISLE 


46 

“ Weren’t those people a charming couple — there was 
something so absolutely sincere about them ?. ” 

“ I saw scarcely anything of them,” answered 
Anthea. 

“ No, I forgot ; but I was thinking that their chil- 
dren would be happy mortals. Just consider what it 
would be to be brought up in that place, to see the 
cherry blossoms bloom and turn to fruit year after 
year, to feel that keen fresh air. Ah, it was a land 
of dreams and visions.” 

Garston was speaking half to himself, and Anthea 
was watching him, with a strange expression in her 
eyes. It seemed to say that he was young — so very 
young, whilst she 

Both of them found the walk and the lunch extraor- 
dinarily pleasant. All the angles were smoothed away, 
and although the two did not get to understand each 
other better, the acquaintanceship advanced, and when 
Garston bade her good-bye, he quite forgot to think 
what his world might say of him. 

“ I must see you in London,” he said earnestly, “ for 
I must hear you sing again. I am there for a few 
weeks, and then in June I go to Paris for a few days.” 

“ I will send you my address,” she answered, and 
then she added: “ Mr. Garston, you have saved me 
from despair, and now that the road lies open before 
me I know that it is your hand that has shown me the 
way, and I ought to tell you that the way is all I care 
for.” 

One quick flash of her eyes, and then she left him. 

“ That’s the real woman,” said Garston to himself 


CHERRY ISLE 


47 


soberly, “a woman of ambition, and no flesh and 

blood. I wonder ” But what he wondered he 

did not formulate. 

Back past the cherry orchards, and on to London, 
and his life of alternate moments of hard work and 
ease. 

A week came and went, a week of sunny weather 
and sparkling rains, and no news of Anthea. 

“ She might have written, after what I did for her. ,, 
This was his first thought. 

“ Bother the girl, why doesn’t she write ? ” This 
was his second thought. 

“When is she going to write?” was his third 
thought. 

And all through that week those strange eyes 
haunted him, and his usual indolent good temper 
seemed to have deserted him — but he sang better than 
he had ever done before. 

His London engagements were over, and he was 
going to Paris the next day. As he had an invaluable 
valet, he rarely had to trouble about mundane things, 
and having dined early he went out for a walk. 

Garston disliked the Parks, and in those days the 
Embankment was unspoilt by trams. He made his 
way down to the river. 

The long fresh May evening was waning, and the 
man was in a thoughtful mood, as he moved slowly 
down the path. 

The river was attractive in this sunset, all the ugli- 
ness was toned into picturesqueness, and the voices of 
the town seemed subdued into harmony. 


4 8 


CHERRY ISLE 


Moved by an impulse, the famous singer hailed a 
boatman, and told him to take him with the tide for 
an hour or so. 

The boatman, a thin, under-sized, wizened-looking 
man, rowed him out, and then with strong leisurely 
strokes began to pull towards the West. And dreamily 
Garston watched the banks and the low-lying wharves, 
until a certain chill in the air roused him. 

“ Here,” he said ; “ I think I’ll get ashore here, and 
walk back. The evening's very cold.” 

The lovely day was ending as lovely days do so 
frequently end in England in a cold chill wind and 
mist. 

The lamps were already lit, the windows of the little 
houses which he passed were all hermetically sealed, 
and his feet echoed rather loudly in the quiet streets 
which he was now traversing. 

The slums were left behind, and he had reached 
quiet respectable workmen's dwellings, and the land 
of small clerkdom and dead dullness. Street after 
street of sameness. He was walking down one side 
of a little square, and as he passed a house the figure 
of a woman Was suddenly silhouetted against the light 
within the room. She had apparently been standing 
by the open window, and some one had lit the gas in 
the room. 

Some sudden thought caused Garston to pull up in 
his rapid stride, some memory of a head held in that 
fashion, and from the gloom of the street outside he 
stood watching. 

He could see well into the room, which was raised 


CHERRY ISLE 


49 


a little above the level of the street, and he watched 
the woman cross the room and sit down at the piano. 
She began to sing very softly to herself. 

And Garston outside forgot his wet boots and pos- 
sible chills, and leaned against the railing and lis- 
tened. 

For it was Anthea Argent who sang, and the voice 
was the voice that had charmed him into heaven. 

Very low and very sweet the tones floated out into 
the damp chill air, and Garston stood waiting until the 
song should be finished. There came a break in the 
melody, and Garston took the three steps in one stride, 
and knocked at the door — and waited. 

He continued to wait, and nothing happened. He 
knocked again imperatively. 

There was an impatient opening of a door, a sort of 
exclamation of annoyance perfectly audible through 
the ill-fitting woodwork, and then the door was opened 
by Anthea herself, wearing a very forbidding expres- 
sion. 

The dim gas light wavering over her head showed 
a pale face; she wore a thick shawl held closely round 
her shoulders. 

Charles Garston stood well back in the shadow, and 
for a moment did not answer; then he said, and his 
voice was quick and eager, much quicker and more 
eager than he had intended: 

“Why did you not send me your address, Miss 
Argent? ” 

“Mr. Garston?” Nothing but cold annoyance in 
her tone. 


50 


CHERRY ISLE 


“ Please ask me in,” Garston was once again the 
man of the world ; “ I want to speak to you.” 

Before she had time to answer a hoarse voice 
spoke from behind the door at the end of the 
passage: 

“ Oo’s that, miss ? Is it me that's wanted or 
you ? ” 

Anthea shrugged her shoulders, and then stood 
aside, saying in clear tones, apparently for the benefit 
of the speaker down the passage : 

" Please come in, Mr. Garston, if you really want 
to.” She stood aside for him to enter. 

Garston was fully aware that she did not want him, 
but as he passed her he made up his mind to know the 
reason. 

Anthea shut the door and indicated by a movement 
of her hand the room in which she had been sitting, 
and Charles Garston went in. 

For a moment the light, badly burning though it 
was, confused his sight, and he made his way to the 
fireplace instinctively ; Anthea followed, shut the door, 
and then stood in the middle of the room waiting for 
him to speak. 

Garston glanced at the fireplace. It was cold and 
empty, and he looked deliberately round the room, 
taking in all the details with his quick glance. 

The floor was bare of covering; only a green ragged 
rug lay before the fireplace, one of those rugs presented 
with many pounds of margarine; a chair which since 
the back was broken was an excellent substitute for a 
music stool; a plain wood table, and in the corner a 


CHERRY ISLE 


5i 

heap of something covered with a shawl, something 
which from its appearance was probably bedding; and 
this was literally all, except the piano. 

Charles Garston turned his gaze on Anthea, who 
stood before him somewhat in the attitude of a crim- 
inal expecting sentence, and he neither moved nor 
spoke. 

Then Anthea made a gesture, and said with a sort 
of cheerful bitterness: 

“ You see why I did not send you my address. I 
shall be more comfortably circumstanced next week, 
and then I shall write and send you back the money 
you so kindly lent me.” 

“ No,” he replied. “ I do not see why you did not 
send me your address.” 

“ Don’t you ? ” and now Anthea spoke passionately, 
and looked at him with clear eyes of rebellion. “ This 
is my home; look at it, my own furniture. See the 
street I live in. I pawned the fender to buy my ticket 
for Manchester, and sold the bedstead to buy food, so 
that I should be able to sing next week.” 

“ How long has this been going on? ” 

“How long?” Anthea flung her hands out, and 
spoke rapidly. “ How long? All my life; listen, Mr. 
Garston. My mother was the child of a wandering 
singer, whose husband, or keeper, beat her when her 
voice went, and it was always going, my mother said, 
and she grew up to the same life. Beatings, cursings, 
and pathways down through hell.” Anthea paused, 
but Garston stood so still, and his expression was one 
of such grave interest that Anthea spoke more bitterly 


CHERRY ISLE 


52 

and quickly. She was not acting now; the wrongs of 
her mother and of herself drove her into complete 
naturalness. 

“And then one day she was singing at a fair, and a 
gentleman heard her, and was delighted with her voice, 

and offered to make her fortune ” Again Anthea 

paused, and then went on with cold quick sentences — 
" to make her fortune — on the usual terms. Think of 
it, Mr. Garston, sixteen and motherless, with a voice so 
lovely and yet so uncertain ; and a man offered her all 
she wanted. She told me that for a year or so she was 
happy ; that her voice never went wrong, that the man 
she loved took her all over Europe, and that she sang 
privately, and semi-publicly in many places — and 
then her voice went utterly, and the man turned her 
out. 

“ Then later I was born, and for years my mother 
struggled on, abroad, keeping me and herself by sing- 
ing at cafes, fairs, music halls. And I — oh, my child- 
ish voice was very sweet, and I soon began to help 
her. Not until I was about fifteen did my voice begin 
to go queer, and an old man who had once been a 
famous teacher took me in hand, and taught me for 
years. He was the only good man I have ever met. 
And then my mother died, and I came to England 
three years ago. Old Raffero took me to voice special- 
ists. I had good lessons, and oh ! how hard I worked. 
When he had spent his last penny on me, the old man 
died. Since then I have kept myself. I had no 
money, and who can enter either the world of music or 
literature or stage without the glitter of gold to show 


CHERRY ISLE 


53 

the way! I have sung anywhere and everywhere. 
Public-houses, fairs, odd turns at music halls — and 
then my chance came.” 

Anthea stopped, and walked to the window, then 
back to the piano and struck a few notes, with her 
back turned towards Garston. 

“ I am twenty-one, and I mean to succeed. I care 
for nothing else, nor believe in anything else.” 

“Was your mother like you?” asked Garston 
quietly. 

“ Yes, very like me; she had lovely brown eyes, but 
otherwise we were marvelously alike.” 

Garston’s question sprang into his face, and Anthea 
again flung her hands out, and her voice grew thin 
and sharp. 

“ Yes, the man who was my father had wonderful 
blue eyes, eyes that you never forgot, my mother told 
me once, and I carry that accursed inheritance with 
me. Besides my ambition, there is one other thing 
I care for.” 

“ What is that? ” 

Then Anthea gave herself a shake, and laughed 
coldly: 

“ I don’t know why I have confided in you, Mr. 
Garston. I very rarely forget myself, although I have 
just done so.” 

Garston strode forward, and took the thin long 
hands in his; they felt icy cold, and for one instant 
the two singers were only young man and woman, 
forgetful of everything else. Suddenly Anthea’s 
strange eyes veiled themselves. Garston dropped her 


54 CHERRY ISLE 

hands, flushing scarlet, and stepped back, saying 
quickly: 

“ We are fellow artists and also fellow beings.” 

Then an embarrassing silence fell upon them; the 
barrier that divides man from woman, and soul from 
soul had been lifted for a second, and the impulse in 
both of them was to turn away. 

“ I have been very unconventional, Mr. Garston, 
and so have you, but it is really late, and you must say 
4 Good-night ’ now.” 

Garston hesitated a moment, and then said grimly: 

“ I will go at once if you promise me something.” 

Anthea waited for him to speak, standing still and 
stiff in a most uncompromising attitude. 

“ Leave this place to-morrow and go to the best 
hotel,” the man went on vehemently ; “ here you are — 
starving yourself with cold and ruining your voice, and 
in a month or so you will be earning as much money 
as you want: until then let me be your banker. Oh! 
I am an excellent man of business, I assure you, and 
you shall repay me with interest. Why, child,” — it 
was the singer who was now speaking — “ to have dis- 
covered you will add to my reputation. Tve never 
done such a thing before, and since I’m going to 
America in the autumn, if you will only condescend to 
become famous first, why I shall have nothing to regret 
in the events of this year. America will pour its dol- 
lars before me, and not only fight for the privilege of 
touching my hand as it did before, but will probably 
want to sell the air I breathe. Come, be reasonable, 
Miss Argent.” ^ 


CHERRY ISLE 


55 


Anthca stood before him cold and impassive; the 
copper-colored hair showing reddish in the dull gas 
light, the broad brow and the thin lower part of the 
face strangely out of harmony with each other. 

Then she lifted her eyelids, and the brown and the 
blue eyes looked straight at him, and for the first time 
he saw youth in them, youth and laughter, and a laugh 
suddenly broke from her. 

“ Mr. Garston, you are funny ; it's a perfect revela- 
tion to know that your fame has not turned you into 
an old man. Yes, I will keep the twenty-five pounds 
for the present, but I will stay here and have a fire, and 
I will never forget your kindness. And now good- 
night. ,, 

She held out her hand. 

Garston took it, and for an instant seemed about to 
bend over it, in his own correct dramatic style. Then 
he altered his mind, held it in his for a moment, clasp- 
ing it with a strong firm pressure, and looking down 
intently into the strange eyes as he did so. “ Good- 
night, n he said soberly ; “ I thank you for the confi- 
dence you have shown me. Let it be a link between 
us in the future. Good-night. ,, 

Anthea Argent listened to the footsteps as they 
sounded on the pavement outside. 

Fainter and yet fainter, and then no more audible. 
But the woman stood as if listening long after the 
sounds had died away, listening with a troubled face. 
The eyes that the singer found so oddly compelling 
were wide open and bright with the suspicion of tears. 

And through the mist of her unshed tears she looked 


CHERRY ISLE 


56 

back into the years that lay behind her, wherein she 
had never been young, and then on into the years that 
lay hidden in the future, the years that were to bring 
a golden harvest of fame and money. 


CHAPTER VI 


Come, Anthea, let us two 
Go to feast, as others do. 

—Herrick. 

“And so you are off to America in a week or so ? ” 
asked the Rev. Cecil Arbuthnot lazily, as he watched 
Charles Garston carefully light a cigar. 

“Yes.” Garston was apparently absorbed in his 
cigar. 

“Want to go?” asked the parson, stretching his 
long legs luxuriously. 

“ Not particularly, but it's an engagement of long 
standing. Ah, this is something like a cigar ! ” 

The two men were sitting side by side on two stones 
on a certain moor in the north of England. 

Neither shot, and yet they had been invited there 
for the shooting. 

Their host, Sir Lewis Mayder, and his daughter 
were with their other guests. 

Cecil Arbuthnot and Charles Garston were public 
school men, and although Garston was considerably 
ahead in the race for name and fame, Arbuthnot was 
not badly placed. 

He had many things in his favor — brains and birth, 
good looks and broad convictions. He came of a long 
57 . 


CHERRY ISLE 


58 

line of men who had been bishops and deans, and occa- 
sionally archdeacons; gaiters, in fact, seemed an in- 
tegral part of the costume of an Arbuthnot; and his 
blood if it had been analyzed would have most cer- 
tainly yielded the episcopal germ ; his manner, too, was 
benedictory, his hands were well made, and his busi- 
ness capabilities excellent. 

All the Arbuthnots were clever men, and the Rev. 
Cecil, being a Conservative, was safe for the next 
Liberal Bishopric. He was now resting after genuine 
hard work in a poor parish. 

He was a keen student of humanity, and he noticed 
a change in the singer, his friendship for whom had 
been formed in their school days, a real, if not very 
deep, affection existing between the two men. 

Arbuthnot did not smoke, drank only water, and 
never used slang of any description, but all his friends 
liked him, and put down his general cleanliness of life 
and mind to his cloth, and not to anything really wrong 
in his point of view of life; and Garston, also a fastidi- 
ous man, found him on this present occasion a very 
welcome companion. 

For something was wrong with Garston. 

And that something was that he was haunted by a 
pair of eyes, one of which was blue and the other 
brown: a singularly cold, and yet attractive person- 
ality, a voice that could delight even his perfect knowl- 
edge of music, and yet a voice that could lose its 
charm: and all this combined in one woman, whose 
birth was a tragedy and whose ambition was to be 
successful. 


CHERRY ISLE 


59 

Anthea Argent would have been more than satisfied 
had she known the effect she had produced on the 
famous singer. 

Arbuthnot watched his friend as he smoked. What 
a good-looking fellow he was, and certainly that dis- 
satisfied frown suited him better than the general ex- 
pression of smoothness and calm which he had hitherto 
worn. What had made the difference ? — a woman, of 
course! But what woman would refuse the singer 
anything? thought Arbuthnot cynically. Out loud he 
said: 

“ I am due back in my parish on Saturday. I rather 
envy you your travels, you know, Garston.” 

“ You need not,” answered Garston gloomily, “ it’s 
the deuce and all being a public favorite.” 

“ You used not to say so,” remarked Arbuthnot, 
his eyes leaving Garston’s frowning face, and gazing 
with satisfaction at the sweeping view of crag and 
heather that lay around them. 

“ When one is quite young, it’s all right,” con- 
tinued Garston, flinging away his half-finished cigar, 
“ but a man wants something besides sweetmeats.” 

“ That’s a profound truth you’ve hit upon and a 
very old one,” agreed the parson. “ I always said 
you succeeded too young, you know. Why, here am I 
at thirty odd only a South London vicar, and you are 
at the top of the tree at twenty-six.” 

“ Luck! ” ejaculated Garston. “ It’s about time we 
were making for the house, though, isn’t it? ” 

Arbuthnot rose lazily and stretched himself. 

“ Yes,” he agreed, “ and our hostess likes punctu- 


6o 


CHERRY ISLE 

ality. She does it all awfully well for such a young 
girl ; she can’t be more than nineteen, you know.” 

“Jolly good-looking, but not the sort I care for,” 
said Garston. 

“ What sort do you care for ? ” asked the parson, 
leaping lightly over a furze bush. 

“The sort that doesn’t care for me,” answered 
Garston, quickly. “ Why, there’s Sir Lewis and Miss 
Mayder — funny dried up little chap, the father, isn’t 
he?” 

“ Yes, but he’s very clever; just look how he man- 
ages everything: great financial ability, and splendid 
powers of organization.” 

The two men raised their caps as Miss Mayder 
hailed them. 

“ I’ve news for you, Mr. Garston. Mr. Arbuthnot, 
you walk back with Dad. I’m going to ask Mr. Gar- 
ston to go back with me.” 

“ Lucky Garston,” laughed Arbuthnot ; and the two 
men, short and tall, parson and manufacturing finan- 
cier who had been made a baronet at the last New 
Year’s honors, went away together. They were dis- 
tant connections by marriage, otherwise Arbuthnot 
would not have chosen this house, for he had many 
open to him. Sir Lewis Mayder was a rising poli- 
tician, and the relationship between them gave a 
covering of decency in Arbuthnot’s mind to a 
vaguely formed idea which had for its centre — Alys 
Mayder. 

Alys Mayder was fully a head taller than her little 
father; she was well made, dark and handsome, and 


CHERRY ISLE 


61 


at nineteen was quite aware of her own position and 
value as sole heiress to her father’s possessions; but 
added to this she was a straightforward, capable young 
woman, who enjoyed her life, and liked to see others 
enjoy themselves as well. She was as well educated — 
or as ill — as many other young ladies of position; 
spoke French and German, could play the piano, and 
dance, skate, ride, golf, disliked bridge, although 
forced to play it sometimes, and was in many ways an 
ideal hostess. 

Garston got on with her well, and Alys Mayder was 
proud of her friendship with the great tenor; perhaps 
if he had asked for it she would have been willing to 
give him more than friendship. 

They chatted pleasantly in the ordinary inane fash- 
ion of small talkers, and then Miss Mayder said cheer- 
fully : 

“ I have a treat in store for you at the week-end.” 

“ What other treat do I need beyond being your 
guest?” answered Garston dutifully. 

“ That’s very pretty,” the girl retorted ; “ but I 
know how you love music, and I have secured the 
new woman singer as a guest next Saturday. I met 
her the other day when I was in London, and I expect 
she will sing if we ask her to, for I have found her 
very kind-hearted.” 

“ Do you mean Miss Argent ? ” Garston asked 
slowly, brain and heart setting themselves in grim op- 
position. 

“ Yes. Do you know her? ” 

“ Slightly,” answered the tenor rather carelessly ; 


62 


CHERRY ISLE 


“ yes, she can sing, but I’m not sure whether I can 
stay over the week-end.” 

“ But you must ” commanded Miss Mayder, “ you 
literally must, for I told Miss Argent you would be 
here.” 

“And what did she say? ” asked Garston. 

“ Only that she had heard you sing ; but I should 
not think that she ever said much. She is a strange 
sort of woman altogether, but I’ve invited a lot of 
people to meet her. Do you think she will sing? If 
she won’t for me, will she for you?” And Miss 
Mayder cast him a glance which said, “ I expect she 
will.” 

“ Who can say ? ” asked Garston lightly. 

“ I wonder whether Cecil Arbuthnot will like her.” 

“Arbuthnot’s a good fellow,” answered Garston, 
shortly, “but I do not fancy he would get on with 
Miss Argent.” 

Something in the man’s tone caused Miss Mayder 
to look at him quickly; Garston was undoubtedly 
scowling — and the scowl improved the rather placid 
face. 

“ I wonder,” thought Miss Mayder, “ whether he 
knows Miss Argent more than slightly. Artists are 
unaccountable people, and it will be rather fun to watch 
them. If I can get Cecil to be interested too it will 
be jolly.” 

The house-party was rather slow, and Garston, feel- 
ing generally injured and tired, escaped from it, and 
went for a walk in the Park by himself, between tea 
and dinner. 


CHERRY ISLE 


63 

It was with a feeling of relief that he escaped alone 
from the big Georgian erection which utterly spoilt 
the wonderful beauty of the late summer landscape. 
It was Wednesday; on Friday Anthea would come, 
and Garston felt within himself that if he stayed on 
and met her he would be in danger of falling desper- 
ately in love. 

Did he love her now — love this strange woman with 
her stranger history? Was it only the compelling 
eyes that drew? Was there a foundation on which 
to build? 

She was now an established success. During the 
summer she had sung her way upwards, and only 
once had she been unable to fulfil an engagement from 
indisposition. Garston pictured her sitting still and 
rigid with cold fury because her voice had gone thin. 
He had not seen her since early June, and now fresh 
from her success — success originating in him — they 
were to meet. 

What would be the result ? 

Garston was still too rich, too successful, too used 
to walking on velvet to consider Anthea’s possible point 
of view ; he was occupied in wondering what he would 
do, and it hardly occurred to him that the choice might’ 
be with Anthea rather than with himself. 

Yes, he would stay, and would meet her; then his 
pulses and his heart leaped, and the strange eyes drew 
him in memory, and his twenty-six years of living lay 
very lightly on his soul. 

Anthea Argent came just in time to dress for dinner 
on Friday. 


CHERRY ISLE 


64 

Charles Garston was a punctual man, but on this 
particular Friday he was dressed and waiting in the 
drawing-room earlier than he had ever been — and 
Arbuthnot stood by the fire watching his friend. 

All the latter’s lazy, indolent calm was gone, and 
although he was standing motionless, the clergyman 
could see that every nerve was on the alert. 

“ Which of the newcomers can it be ? ” Arbuthnot 
asked himself. “ It is not Miss Mayder, I have no 
rival there: at first I thought I had, and Cousin Alys 
likes this handsome singer.” 

In watching his friend’s demeanor he forgot to 
watch the door. 

Then Garston suddenly straightened himself, his 
well-carried fair head lifted itself still higher, and a 
faint tinge of color crept up into the boyishly clear 
complexion. Yes, this woman who was now coming 
slowly up the long drawing-room must be she. 

She too was very early. 

Had she known that Garston would be waiting ? 

The parson was accustomed to weigh actions, 
analyze gestures, and to read the language of souls, 
and on the whole he was an apt and kindly scholar. 

He turned his gaze upon the woman whom Garston 
was going forward to meet. 

A woman young, and yet with a strange air of years 
upon her; tall and slender, she moved with a royal 
walk, her copper-colored hair crowning a broad- 
browed face, her eyes hidden by lowered lids. 

Anthea was dressed in black, a soft dusky material 
that clung to her figure in picturesque outlines. Her 


CHERRY ISLE 


65 

neck and arms were bare, the white flesh showing like 
marble against the black of her dress, and in the cop- 
per-colored hair she wore one jewel, a sapphire which 
glowed dully. 

Garston went to meet her with quick uneven gait. 
He forgot that Arbuthnot stood by the fire, he forgot 
that everything he did would be exaggerated by gossip 
and made public property; he only saw Anthea com- 
ing to meet him, Anthea whose personality drew him 
towards her with compelling force, and for one glance 
from whose strange eyes he would have imperilled his 
reputation. 

In those few seconds he knew that unless Anthea 
loved him even as he loved her, his life would have 
one of those dark gaps which nearly all of us 
possess. 

He caught his breath with a quick gasp, and then 
his hand was touching Anthea’s cold thin one, and he 
heard her voice saying gravely: 

“ How do you do, Mr. Garston? It is delightful to 
see you again.” 

Garston held her hand firmly, and in a voice that 
was alarmingly clear, exclaimed: 

“Anthea! ” 

She lifted her eyes, and he met the glance for which 
he had been longing. 

But the language in those strange eyes was an un- 
known one to the man, and he recovered his self-con- 
trol, let go the hand that had lain for a moment cold 
and thin in his, and said: 

“ Miss Argent, it is an unexpected pleasure to meet 


66 


CHERRY ISLE 


you here. I have been longing to see you and tell you 
how delighted I am at the great success you have 
won.” 

“ I have to thank you for compelling the world to 
open its ears,” said Anthea quietly; and then she smiled 
rather cynically: “ I do not have to live in a bed-sitting 
room now.” 

“ And your voice ? ” asked Garston, eagerly. 

“ I think it must be nerves,” said Anthea thought- 
fully ; “ it has only gone twice, and on one occasion it 
was when I had a bad cold.” 

“ That’s all right: I always have a sort of serre- 
mcnt-de-cceur when I know you have a big thing on ” ; 
and Garston spoke quite naturally. 

Anthea turned quickly. 

“ Surely that is Mr. Arbuthnot? ” she asked. 

“ Yes, do you know him?” Garston asked in some 
surprise. 

“ He was, or is still for aught I know, the vicar of 
that riverside parish in which I was living,” Anthea 
replied. “ Oh, no, he doesn’t know me, but I saw 
him occasionally in the street, and my landlady used 
to rave about him. Once I heard him preach.” 

“ What was it like?” 

Anthea laughed slightly: “ Oh, very good and clear, 
and logical, but I don’t think he forgot for one mo- 
ment that he was a saint speaking to sinners.” 

“ Shall I introduce him ? ” asked Garston in amused 
tones. 

“ Please; but is he not too good to be one of the 
house-party ? ” 


CHERRY ISLE 


67 

“ He’s a relation of our host,” explained Garston, 
“ and a very good fellow. I was at school with him, 
and he is one of the few men who can touch pitch and 
not be defiled. Arbuthnot ” 

The clergyman came forward, and Garston intro- 
duced the two. 

“ I was one of your parishioners once, Mr. Arbuth- 
not,” said Anthea, “ but you never came to see me.” 

The Rev. Cecil Arbuthnot smiled gravely. 

“ I have seventeen thousand souls in my parish,” he 
said, “ and to see them all would mean seeing about 
fifty a day, not counting Sundays. Still, please accept 
my apologies; a district visitor, or one of my lady 
workers should have been round once a month.” 

A gleam of amusement lit up Anthea’s face, but she 
made no reply. 

“ I am to take you in to dinner. Miss Mayder tells 
me,” Garston said, breaking in on the awkward 
silence. 

Anthea continued to talk pleasantly, and Garston 
watched her for the few seconds that remained before 
the drawing-room filled. 

During the dinner which followed he continued to 
watch and wonder. 

How perfectly she was a woman of the world, the 
world in which she found herself! And then he re- 
membered with a sudden pang that according to the 
story of her life which she had told him — she had al- 
ways been “ in the world.” She talked well, some- 
times to him, sometimes to Arbuthnot, who sat on the 
other side, and Garston noticed that she ate very little. 


68 


CHERRY ISLE 


“ Why don’t you eat?” he demanded, rather 
abruptly. 

She lifted her eyelids, and he caught a glance of 
the eyes, as she answered: 

“ I know Miss Mayder is expecting me to sing, and 
if I eat much I shall think my voice is going, and then 
it will go.” 

“Are you afraid of that? ” asked Garston gently. 

Again he caught a glimpse of her eyes. 

“ Yes,” she said. 

“ If I were to sing first,” Garston went on very 
gently, “ would it make you less nervous ? ” 

Then he saw her eyes fully. 

“ I want to hear you sing more than anything else. 
I think I should forget my nerves then,” said Anthea 
quickly. 

“ Very well, I will try to arrange it so.” 

Anthea did not know that Charles was making a 
great sacrifice for her — the sacrifice of his beloved 
voice, for he never sang immediately after eating, and 
in private he sang only to very intimate friends, and 
always arranged to be the last performer. 

She did not know this until Arbuthnot told her, as 
Charles was speaking to the accompanist after dinner. 
As he told her Arbuthnot watched the cold face to see 
if it evinced triumph. 

But no line changed, and the parson suddenly found 
himself wishing that she would raise her eyes. 


CHAPTER VII 


And though we bid adieu to-day. 

We shall not part for ever. 

—Herrick. 

The Rev. Cecil Arbuthnot continued to sit beside 
Anthea whilst the famous tenor sang. As Garston 
sang, she opened her eyes, forgetting everything but 
the sweetness of the sounds that seemed to come in one 
wonderful stream of enchantment from his lips. 

The clergyman felt a sudden thrill when he first saw 
those strange orbs, but after a few seconds the sensa- 
tion seemed to settle into his brain, and he too felt 
attracted and full of desire to have those eyes looking 
upon him. 

Garston went on singing. He sang the room into 
silence, he sang Anthea' s soul into forgetfulness of 
self, and into a mood which desired better and nobler 
things than a fickle world's adulation. 

When he had ended his song, he came straight to 
Anthea, and by a gesture invited her to come to the 
piano. 

Then the two great singers side by side walked 
across the room — Garston tall and handsome, Anthea 
extraordinarily distinguished looking. 

As she walked, Anthea was conscious of the gaze 
6 9 


70 


CHERRY ISLE 


of the critical eyes of Society — and it amused her, for 
she felt that as long as she had Garston by her side 
she could afford to ignore the world’s criticism. 

Charles Garston opened the music, and stood for 
one moment looking at the words of the song; then he 
heard Anthea give a little gasp. 

He looked up; Anthea’s face was white, her eyes 
wide open, and she spoke in a quick whisper: 

“ My voice is going wrong.” 

“ Nonsense ! ” the tenor answered sternly, “ non- 
sense ! ” 

The girl made an effort, and began to sing. 

But she had been right ; her voice had lost its strange, 
weird and surpassingly sweet quality, and it was now 
thin and weak. 

Charles Garston leaned rather heavily on the piano, 
his color coming and going. 

The first verse was over. 

Anthea suddenly looked at him, her eyes lit up, and 
as she met Charles’s tragic gaze, she smiled, for her 
voice came back again, and she finished her song most 
gloriously. 

Then the famous tenor gave her his arm, and led 
her through the crowd of people, right out onto the 
terrace. 

Arbuthnot came up to Miss Mayder. 

“Did you ever hear two such wonderful voices?” 
he asked. 

“ No — but I wonder what was wrong with Miss 
Argent at first,” answered Miss Mayder in puzzled 
tones, 


CHERRY ISLE 


7i 


“ Nervousness, I expect,” was the answer; “ but, 
Alys, I want you to tell me who Miss Argent is, and 
if Mr. Garston knows her well.” 

Alys looked at him, and laughed lightly: 

“ The first you must ask her, and the second him, 
but I should guess that however much or little they 
know each other now, in a little while they will know 
each other much better.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” asked the parson gravely. 

But Alys vouchsafed no answer. 

Garston and Anthea had made their way into the 
fresh cool air, and for a few minutes neither had 
spoken. 

Then the man said : 

“ I have promised to sing again ; will you stay here? 
You can hear me if you care about it.” 

“ Thank you,” answered Anthea. 

That was all; then the singer left her, and went 
back amongst the people, Anthea being left on the 
terrace alone. 

She stood resting her hands on the low stone para- 
pet. Behind her rose the great house, its many win- 
dows all lit up, and the light from the drawing-room 
casting its radiance almost to where she stood. 

Before her stretched the woods of Mayder House, 
and away beyond them sloping hills. 

The night was very still and fresh; from the open 
windows came the murmur of voices, intermixed with 
occasional laughter, and from the woods beyond came 
the voices of the night. 

A sudden screech from the woods where the strong 


72 


CHERRY ISLE 


had conquered and a hare had died, the distant bark 
of a fox, the short sharp “ twit-twit ” of an owl, and 
from a little distance the striking of a clock. 

One, two — and on to eleven. 

Anthea’s hands suddenly clasped and unclasped, and 
then she put them again on the parapet, and the cold 
stone of the wall felt hot to her icy fingers. A hush in 
the murmur of voices, a pause in the laughter and a 
few chords struck on the piano, and then out into the 
coolness and darkness Garston’s voice fell on the 
night air. 

It seemed to encircle Anthea’s very being and strike 
down into her soul. 

He sang a quaint old song; too lovely to be fash- 
ionable, too full of melody both in words and music 
to be a lasting favorite in a nation that yells “ rag- 
times ” everywhere. 

As he sang, the scent of cherry-blossoms seemed to 
come back to Anthea, and a cool spring wind laden 
with freshness blew upon her spirit. 

The voice sang on, and that which the great tenor 
had hitherto lacked had come. These were the words 
he sang: 

Bid me to live , and 1 will live 
Thy Protestant to he! 

Or hid me love , and I will give 
A loving heart to thee. 

Bid that heart stay, and it will stay 
To honor thy decree ! 

Or hid it languish quite away, 

And’t shall do so for thee * 


CHERRY ISLE 


73 


Bid me to weep , and I will weep. 

While I have eyes to see! 

And having none yet will I keep 
A heart to weep for thee. 

Bid me despair, and I'll despair 
Under that cypress tree 

Or hid me die, and I will dare 
E'en death to die for thee. 

Thou art my life, my love, my heart, 

The very eyes of me! 

And hast command of every part 
T o live and die for thee. 

For a full minute there was silence; then came ap- 
plause, such as is rarely heard in a drawing-room. 

Anthea stood rigid, but a strange shudder passed 
through her. She was listening, listening for the 
sound of approaching footsteps. 

Charles Garston trod lightly, and he came so quickly 
that his footfalls hardly sounded. 

Arbuthnot and Alys Mayder were still side by 
side. 

“ Where has he gone ? ” asked Alys in rather 
startled tones. 

“Do you know the name of that song?” asked 
Arbuthnot, smiling. 

“ No, it's a quaint old one, but I’ve never heard it 
sung before.” Alys’s fingers were twisting rather 
nervously. 

“ It’s by Robert Herrick, and it’s called ‘ To 
Anthea.’ ” 

“Well?” 


74 


CHERRY ISLE 


“ Is not Miss Argent's name Anthea ? ” 

~ “ So it is, I had quite forgotten,” answered Alys 
lightly. 

The tenor had provided a sensation; he had evi- 
dently gone straight out to her. 

“ Lucky girl!” 

“ Caught at last — but was he serious ? ” 

“ She was a success, and the two together, my 
word ! ” 

“ He was singing for her alone.” 

But the singer had forgotten his surroundings, for- 
gotten his careful avoidance of eccentricity or even 
ordinary originality: he only knew that out there in 
the dusk Anthea was waiting for him — the woman 
whose eyes had drawn him out of himself. He came 
up to her, and laid one hand upon her shoulder. 

Anthea neither spoke nor turned. Charles Garston 
withdrew his hand, and, taking a step sideways, faced 
her. 

“ Do you know why I sang ? ” he demanded ab- 
ruptly. 

“ Yes, I understood.” 

He drew nearer, and his voice, ordinarily so 
smooth and sweet, was abrupt and uneven. 

“ Well, you are the very eyes of me, and what am 
I to you? Anthea, do you love me? You must, you 
must.” 

He stood quite motionless, and the unevenness of 
his voice moved her deeply. 

“ I love your voice, and you have * made me,’ ” 
Anthea answered very quietly, “ and I like you better 


CHERRY ISLE 


75 


than any one else, but I do not think I love you. I 
think I cannot love any one. I only care to suc- 
ceed.” 

“ I do not believe it.” Stepping forward, he seized 
her hands, and held them in an agonizing grip. 

“ No woman, Anthea, with your eyes, could only 
like. I will teach you.” 

His voice grew dangerously soft, but Anthea still 
struggled against its seductiveness, though she let her 
hands lie passively in Garston’s grip. She spoke in 
a troubled voice. 

“ I am a strange woman,” she said, “ and have lived 
through strange scenes, and I think my heart must be 
like my voice. Supposing it goes ‘ thin ' as well.” 

“ That would not matter,” he answered eagerly, 
with the unseeing egoism of the man in love; “ I have 
love enough for two.” 

She drew her hands away, and in the dim light 
Garston saw that her eyelids fell. 

“And voice enough, for mine would not matter. 
No — I do not feel ready to give up everything just 
when I am succeeding.” The tone of her voice was 
bitter. 

“Anthea ! ” exclaimed Garston, turning away. 

“ Please don't mind so much.” 

“Anthea, may I ask you again presently ? ” 

He wheeled round, hope springing into his voice. 

Anthea felt strangely moved, though she was a very 
cold woman, and she held out her hand to the singer, 
who, after all, was only a boy. 

“Yes, Herrick,” she said gently, “when you have 


CHERRY ISLE 


76 

finished your tour in America, and when I have faced 
the world for a while.” 

For an instant he clasped Anthea wildly to him. 

He did not kiss her, just held her tightly, saying 
rather brokenly: “ My darling, my darling, I will come 
and claim you when the cherry trees blossom again.” 

Anthea, much to her own astonishment, did not feel 
angry, only excited and rather “ out ” of herself. 
She laughed softly, and for a moment felt happy. 

“Ah, here is Mr. Arbuthnot,” said Anthea. 

Garston went forward, and said to Arbuthnot: 

“ Miss Argent was feeling faint after her song but 
is better now; will you bring her in in a few minutes? ” 
“ Certainly, Garston,” said the parson courteously, 
and then, as Garston went into the drawing-room, 
Arbuthnot went towards Anthea. 


CHAPTER VIII 


Deep waters noiseless are; and this we know — 

That chiding streams betray small depths below. 

— Herrick. 

The tenor went away the next day, and did not see 
Anthea again. Whereat Anthea was both glad and 
sorry, but the house-party was disappointed. 

The hostess wondered if Anthea had refused him. 

Arbuthnot began seriously to cultivate Miss May- 
der. She would make an excellent wife for a clergy- 
man who was expecting high preferment; indeed it 
was possible that the preferment might come through 
Alys, for her father was very wealthy, and had much 
influence in high quarters. But Arbuthnot felt that 
Alys preferred Garston. 

Alys Mayder begged Anthea to extend her visit. 
Anthea, seeing all things from under her lowered lids, 
stayed on until the middle of the week, and allowed 
Arbuthnot to study her. 

They talked of Garston, they talked of voices, they 
talked of the danger of overstrain, and he told her 
that once he had had a touch of “ clergyman’s throat ” 
and that a doctor friend of his had given him a won- 
derful gargle which had put him right at once. 

She had been much interested in this, and he had 
felt rather flattered, and then they had talked of philos- 
ophy and the Church. 

Anthea had plenty of time for talking, for she 

77 


CHZ2.3.7 15LZ 


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8o 


CHERRY ISLE 


that within Anthea somewhere lay a volcano, and 
when Anthea bade her farewell she told her she hoped 
they would see more of each other. 

Anthea went her way with her lowered lids, and of 
all the guests none but Arbuthnot knew of her strange 
eyes. And he had only seen them once, that once 
when Garston sang. 

Those who study mankind know that it is the little 
things that attract so strongly; the little mannerisms, 
the quick glance sideways, the pathetic upward look, 
certain intonations, expressions on the face which one 
unconsciously desires to reproduce, an arch of the 
eyebrows, a turn of the head — these things are the un- 
breakable links. And Anthea’ s eyes, although she her- 
self hated them, were one of her chief attractions. 

Arbuthnot decided to wait before he approached 
Sir Lewis Mayder on the subject of his daughter. 
She was nineteen, there was plenty of time, and his 
parish called him. 

So he went back to his South London work, and 
continued his labors in that vast and somewhat hope- 
less field. 

He supervised a mission from one of the univer- 
sities, and fathered the boys of twenty or so who came 
to show the way of living to weary men and women 
whose lives were not worth living. He thoroughly 
approved of university missions: they taught the 
young men something. 

The winter proved a very severe one, and Arbuth- 
not labored without ceasing, giving freely time, money 
and strength. 


CHERRY ISLE 


81 


Twice only did he spend where he might have saved. 
And that twice was when he went to hear Anthea sing. 
He told himself that press of work alone prevented 
him from seeing the Mayders frequently that winter. 

Anthea rose in the public estimation by leaps and 
bounds, the “ thin ” voice seemed to be a thing of the 
past, and although the dread of it lay deep within her 
mind, she ceased to fear it hourly. She had told 
Garston that she lived for two objects, and one of 
them was success; this one of the two was certainly 
attained. 

She moved on through her life, cold and still, guard- 
ing well the secret of her eyes. 

The different colors were to her a symbol of a 
hateful origin, and in her eyes lay the second object 
of her life. 

As the weeks went on, she grew more and more un- 
decided as regarded her course of action with Garston. 
Sometimes the memory of his voice — and it was far 
more his voice than himself — seemed to draw her to 
him, and then marriage with him meant an absolutely 
assured future. 

Anthea learned that he was a wealthy man, and 
that though he lived in comfort he did not fling his 
money away. Many tales she heard about the favorite 
of fortune: that whilst many women had been in love 
with him and had pursued him, he had only been in 
love with few, and there were no public scandals what- 
ever attached to his name. 

Did she love him ? Could she love any one beyond 
herself? Suppose she lost her voice altogether! Ah, 


82 


CHERRY ISLE 


if only there were not that ghastly doubt at the root 
of her life! If she lost her voice, it would be well for 
her to be Charles Garston’s wife. 

But would being Charles Garston’s wife cause her 
to lose her voice? And so through the months of 
bitter cold Anthea weighed the question. The tenor 
did not write to her, but she found herself following 
every detail of his triumphant progress through that 
land of clever youth — America. Tt did not occur to 
her that he was forgetting her. 

March came, with days of glittering sunshine and 
mocking bitter winds. In early April Garston’s tour 
would end. Anthea’s engagements were over for a 
while; her voice was not improved by a heavy cold, 
and her voice specialist advised her to rest it for a 
while. 

As she was wondering where to go, she received a 
cablegram from Garston. 

" Read you are suffering from a cold. Have ar- 
ranged for you to rest at Cherry Isle. Will see you 
there on 18th April.” 

Anthea read the cablegram over and over again, her 
eyes widely open. 

Would going be tantamount to accepting Garston’s 
love? 

Not necessarily — for she had promised to meet him 
there. 

Not necessarily to him, that is — but if she went she 
knew that she would agree to marry him. 

And she felt that she was about to lose her freedom. 


CHAPTER IX 


Only come and see Him rest, 

A princely Babe, in mother's breast. 

— Herrick. 

Cherry Farm lay in the grip of winter; icy north- 
east winds blew through the leafless orchards, the 
grass beneath the bending trees glittered with frail, 
frost diamonds, the ground was hard as iron, and 
though the sun gave light, he sent down no particle of 
warmth. 

Jim Sanders, the young farmer, was coming back 
from a distant part of his orchards, where some of his 
best trees had suffered severely, their biggest branches 
being wrested from their sockets by the fierceness of 
the cruel gale which had blown now for nearly twenty- 
four hours. 

It was a hard struggle to make his way, and though 
his cap was pulled low down over his eyes and his 
collar turned high up to his ears, the raw sharp air bit 
into him with painful vigor. 

But Jim Sanders did not care, not he. 

What mattered the searching keenness of the 
wind, what mattered if his trees were damaged, what 
mattered the frozen hardness of the world out- 
side? Inside his home glorious summer was at its 
height. He had never dreamed that the world could 
hold such glories, that things which meant so much 
83 


CHERRY ISLE 


84 

could have happened to him. Why, it seemed as if the 
heavens had opened and shown him the splendor of the 
Creator, and all just for him, plain Jim Sanders. 

When he thought of the wonder of it all, he caught 
his breath, and tears forced their way with a sudden 
smart into his eyes. 

For at home, up-stairs in the low-ceilinged bedroom, 
shut away from all the storm, in the big wooden bed, 
lay his wife Bessie, and by her — his first-born son. 
Late last night the babe had come into the world, 
come, a thought from God garbed in flesh, through 
the wild storm of quivering flesh and pitiless pain, into 
a haven of mother-love and father-worship. 

And Jim, waiting below with clenched hands and 
tear-stained face, had, as midnight struck, been sum- 
moned up-stairs, and had beheld the greatest wonder 
that the world ever knew, a new-born baby. 

His wife Bessie lay still and exhausted, but she 
smiled at him with her eyes as he leaned over her. 
And then he had seen his child. 

Ugly and small, and red and featureless? 

Not a bit of it! The sweetest little blossom that 
ever grew on a cherry tree, and Jim thought so from 
his very heart. 

This infant was getting on for eighteen hours old, 
and Jim was to see his wife for five minutes, if he were 
very quiet. 

So he fought homeward through the winter storm. 
A letter was in the kitchen, waiting for him, but what 
mattered letters? He got into dry garments, washed 
his hands, and rubbed his nose until it glowed, for it 


CHERRY ISLE 


85 

would never do to come in cold to Bessie’s room. He 
put on slippers, and wished he was not so heavy on his 
feet, and that his hands were not so big and red. 
When the nurse summoned him he was literally shak- 
ing with anticipation. 

As he went up the steep stairs, the wind blew past 
the lattice windows, shrieking with an uncanny sound, 
and the farmer shivered. 

Bessie lay in her bed, still pale, but perfectly happy, 
and her honest blue-gray eyes were filled with love as 
she smiled at Jim cheerfully. 

“ You shall have ten minutes, Mr. Sanders,” said 
the nurse, a homely cheerful woman, who was rather 
less ignorant of her work than numbers of maternity 
nurses. “ I’ll come back as soon as your time is up, 
for baby has to be fed then, and you shall see me lift 
him up.” 

With a nod and a warning: “ Now, Mrs. Sanders, 
mind you keep quiet,” the nurse went away. 

Jim put a chair by the bed, and, sitting down, held 
out his hand for his wife to hold; she put hers into 
his big round red one. 

“ Eh, lass,” he said, “ and how are ye to-night ? ” 

“Fine, Jim,” she answered lovingly; “and nurse 
says he’s the finest boy she ever nursed.” 

“Well, so I thought last night,” agreed Jim; “I 
say, lass, what’s his name to be? If’t had been a lass 
I’d have called it ’Lizbeth after you, but, seeing as it’s 
a lad, you’ve the naming of it.” 

“ I’ve a fancy, Jim, lad,” said his wife. 

“Anything you fancy you’ve only got to name,” 


86 


CHERRY ISLE 


said Jim heartily, holding his wife’s broad work-hard- 
ened hand firmly in his. 

“ Ye know the singer, who you found from his like- 
ness was the famous Mr. Garston? ” 

“ Yes, lass, would ye like the boy to be named 
Garston ? ” 

“Not I,” and Bessie smiled; “first name’s James, 
o’ course. But I want none other but you, lad, to be 
called ‘ Jim/ and the boy would sure to be called Jim 
or Jimmy, and it’s you that’s Jim, and naught else. 
So I was thinkin’ — you know the old song, ‘ Cherry 
Ripe,’ that he sang ? ” 

“ I know, lass. Why, the sound of it was honey in 
my ears, so to speak.” Jim’s own voice grew softer 
at the thought. 

“ Well,” went on the wife rather bashfully, “ I 
thought I’d like the lad called James Herrick, and 
call him Herrick. He was the man, a parson too, who 
made up the song.” 

“Herrick!” repeated James, musingly, “yes, it’ull 
do, and p’r’aps the lad will sing. I say, Bessie, lass, 
just supposin’ he grows up clever, or goes on the stage, 
or even turns into a scholar.” 

“ I’ll be proud of him anyway,” declared the young 
mother fervently, “ and he’ll be a good boy, I know he 
will, and ’ull help us fine. Oh, Jim! I do think the 
Lord has been wonderful good to us ! ” 

“Amen! So do I,” answered Jim, with simple 
reverence ; “ and you and I, lass, will have to learn a 
few things so as us may teach the lad.” 

The nurse came back as he spoke, and lifted the 


CHERRY ISLE 


87 

baby from its cradle, and told Jim to come and look. 
Jim bent over the infant, and touched its cheek; the 
infant’s hand, waving aimlessly, fastened itself onto 
his hard weather-stained finger. 

Somehow the feel of that tiny hand, not nearly as 
big as his thumb, caused a choking to come into the 
young father’s throat, and a sudden moisture to his 
eyes, for in supreme moments we are poets, and Jim 
never forgot through the hard years of his life that 
first clinging touch of his baby’s hand. 

“ Now, Mr. Sanders, off you go,” commanded the 
nurse cheerfully, totally oblivious of poetry. Babies 
were her profession, and it is only to the very few of 
us that our profession retains its poetry. 

Jim kissed his wife, and went down-stairs, had his 
supper, lit his pipe, and then remembered his letter. 

He opened it and looked at the signature. He read 
“ Charles Garst6n.” 

“ Here’s something to tell Bessie. Now what does 
he say ? ” 

“ Dear Mr. Sanders, — You promised to do anything 
I asked when I sang. Do you remember me singing 
‘ Cherry Ripe ’ ? Well, I want you to take in a lodger 
on the first of April for a few days. She is a famous 
singer, and is the lady who had tea with me. If all 
goes well we will sing you a duet. 

“ I shall consider it a great favor if your wife, to 
whom remember me kindly, will be so kind as to 
consent. 

“ Yours very sincerely, 

“ Charles Garston.” 

Jim whistled, and then murmured: “All Fool’s Day! 


88 


CHERRY ISLE 


But he don’t think o’ that. Well, the wife ’ull be 
strong by then, and if he will sing, why, ’twill more 
than pay, and the money will pay all the bills and 
nurse’s cash too.” 

When Jim spoke to Bessie about it a few days 
later, she cheerfully agreed, and the coming lodger 
occupied their minds a good deal. 

“ It’s a case with our singer,” said Bessie shrewdly, 
“ or he would never have written so. He met her 
here, and here he’s goin’ to pop the question. Will 
the blossoms be out, think ye, Jim? ” 

Jim cast an eye up at the window, and shook his 
head. 

“ ’Tisn’t likely,” he answered; “ if the wind changes 
and the frost goes perhaps the buds will show; but I 
doubt it. Say, lass, did ye like her ? ” 

“ I only saw her pass like,” answered Bessie, 
thoughtfully; “ she walked rare and well, and held her 
head high, and her hair looked like a new penny in the 
sun ; but I never got a glimpse of her face.” 

“ Well, let’s hope she’ll make him happy, for he 
was a real gentleman,” remarked Jim. And then the 
baby cried, and Jim, who had become quite clever in 
the art of dandling, hushed him and rocked him to 
sleep. The young mother watched her two men folk 
with swelling pride, and then said rather hesitatingly: 

“ Say, Jim, we won’t have him christened yet a 
while.” 

Jim laughed: 

“ I see through ye, lass; ye’re after the singers for 
god-dad and mam.” 


CHERRY ISLE 


89 

Bessie blushed. “ Yes/’ she said, firmly, “ one’s 
bound to think o’ t’ future, and my boy shall have 
everything to help him on.” 

“ So he shall then; but his best helper will be his 
mother,” said Jim, smiling affectionately at his wife. 

On the first of April Anthea left London. Garston 
would see her on the 18th ; that gave her nearly three 
weeks. She would rest and get her voice right. The 
dry east winds always suited her. 

She wrote to Bessie Sanders, and told her the hour 
of her arrival. 

She traveled first-class, and her compartment was 
empty. It was nearly a year ago since she had pawned 
her possessions to obtain the wherewithal to travel 
third-class to fulfil her engagement. 

Yes, she had conquered fate, and if her voice failed 
her, she had a balance at her bankers. 

Her future was secured from the temporal point of 
view. Anthea had flung all her energies, all her knowl- 
edge, into the battle; one by one she went over again 
the steps she had taken to attain her present position: 
every one had been carefully thought out, every one 
had been foreseen. Even this present action of hers, 
this apparent yielding to Garston’s love, was the result 
of a carefully outlined policy. 

The world should succumb to her entirely. 

This was her determination, and for this she lived. 

She was nearly twenty-two, young in years, but very 
old in knowledge, and her soul was in its infancy. 
Some souls stay in that stage forever. 

She was nameless, and this bitter thought burned 


CHERRY ISLE 


90 

deep within her brooding spirit. If she married 
Charles Garston her name would be a good one. 

She had told Garston her history — in a moment of 
bitter defiance — and she had never regretted doing so ; 
truth was always best, for untruth has a way of rear- 
ing its gaily decked head at the wrong moment. 

Ah ! here was her stopping place, and a covered car 
awaiting her ! 

And then they were speeding at a reckless rate 
through the still winter-bound -country. 

The hedges and trees were bare, but if Anthea had 
descended from the car and had looked closely, she 
would have seen that the branches and brambles were 
reddening towards blossom. 

First comes the faint red-brown tint, and then the 
pale sweet green, and, despite the bareness of Nature, 
the birds were twittering and chirping, and hurrying 
about in a state of immense activity. 

Up and down the roads, past the village church, 
through the tidy little village, past the Bull's Head Inn, 
and then into the land of the cherry orchards. 

Here Anthea, who had been leaning back in the car, 
holding her furs closely round her, bent forward and 
noted the havoc that the gales had made. 

She shivered. What a bleak land it was ! And yet 
she remembered it as very lovely. 

It was with an unreasonable sense of disappointment 
that she perceived the farm was square and rather ugly 
without its garment of creepers; for although there 
was ivy, it had not grown on the front of the 
house. 


CHERRY ISLE 91 

The car pulled up, and Jim stood, smiling but awk- 
ward, at the door. 

He and Bessie had been looking forward intensely 
to seeing their singer’s lady; they felt a sort of pro- 
prietary right in her, quite forgetting that she had 
never seen them, and that to her they were but Sanders 
and his wife of Cherry Blossom Farm. 

Jim felt unreasonably hurt when she stepped out of 
the car and walked slowly up the winding path towards 
the farm, with only a quiet “ Good-morning.” 

“ She’s proud,” he said, bitterly. As he followed 
her with her lighter luggage, Bessie came eagerly to 
the door. 

At this instant, the baby, generally a most discreet 
and trustworthy personage, forgot his manners, and 
began to cry, and the cry became a yell. 

Bessie had to choose between welcoming her lodger 
into a house from which issued a very excellent imita- 
tion of a hunted pig, or appearing at the door with an 
infant in her arms, and she wisely chose the lesser of 
the two evils. Snatching up the son, the Herrick of 
the future, she squeezed him into breathless silence, 
and hurried back to the door. 

Anthea was waiting on the threshold, standing quite 
still, and looking about her indifferently from under 
her lowered lids. 

It would be rather tiresome if that baby cried much, 
but the place was clean, and where cleanliness was it 
meant the mother was a good manager. 

Bessie had expected Anthea to shake hands with 
her, but Anthea was busy with her furs. 


92 


CHERRY ISLE 


“ This is your room, Miss,” said Bessie rather ab- 
ruptly ; “ you would like to come straight up, and your 
sitting-room is ready. There are fires in both rooms, 
and I’ll bring dinner when you ring.” 

Anthea thanked her, and Bessie, rather grimly hand- 
ing the baby to Jim, led the way up-stairs. 

The room faced east, and was large and airy. Bessie 
had raided the house to furnish it. The sitting-room 
on the other side of the house faced east also, and had 
a south window. 

Anthea looked round casually, though she really did 
not mean to be unkind. 

“ Thank you,” she said, “ these rooms will do very 
well. I only want to rest and be quiet.” 

Bessie stood by the door a moment, swallowing, I 
regret to say, slightly audibly. 

“If there’s anything you want, you must say, Miss 
Argent,” she said slowly ; “ you see we aren’t used 
to letting lodgin’s, and we only done it to please Mr. 
Garston.” 

“ It’s very good of you,” said Anthea politely, 
throwing her furs on the bed ; “ everything is admi- 
rable.” 

Bessie shut the door with decided emphasis. 

“ She’s got cat’s eyes, only half open,” she said, in- 
dignantly, to her husband, as she took the baby from 
him. “ I’m glad you’re a boy, my poppet,” and she 
kissed her child. 

“ Yes, she sort of slapped me in the face,” said Jim 
plaintively, “ but she’s had a cold drive, ye know.” 

“ I expect she’s nervous, for it’s tryin’ work waitin’ 


CHERRY ISLE 


93 


to be asked,” said Bessie wisely. “ Why, the evenin’ 
afore you popped the question, Jim, lad, I was all of a 
tremble, and mother said there was no bearin’ with 
me.” 

Jim grinned: “And I thought ye were taken by sur- 
prise, lass, and never dreamed that I loved you. Well, 
there’s no being upsides with the lasses. Miss Argent 
is no end of a swell, and don’t know what want is like. 
I expect she will sorter get more sociable as time goes. 
Now that I’ve got a few minutes to spare like, I’ll 
hold Herrick while you step about.” 

Bessie laughed cheerily. 

“ He’s quiet now, lad, and you’ve the easiest job. 
There, my poppet, go to daddy.” 


CHAPTER X 


He who plucks the sweets shall prove 
Many thorns to be in love. 

— Herrick. 

Anthea woke the next morning to the sound of 
rain upon the windows, and for three days it rained 
without ceasing. Then the sun came out with April’s 
vigor, and Nature appeared to be making up for lost 
time, and it seemed as if the blossoms would bloom in 
time for Charles Garston’s coming after all. 

Anthea did not advance in the Sanders’ favor. She 
was always polite, but never unbent, and although the 
baby cried as little as a baby could be expected to do, 
yet the sound of its voice was at times very annoying. 
Bessie felt that Miss Argent was annoyed, and the 
mother in her resented it. Jim on his wife’s behalf, 
and somewhat on his own, sided with her. 

Anthea’s cold went when the sun came, but she pre- 
ferred to rest her voice entirely. The Sanders hoped 
she would sing to them, but she never did, and they 
considered her “ stuck up ” in consequence. 

Altogether Anthea’s visit was not a success. 

Nor was it a success to Anthea herself. Had she 
been busy, she would have brooded less; but now, 
thinking clearly with her cold keen intellect, she knew 
94 


CHERRY ISLE 


95 

that she did not love Charles Garston, and that as far 
as she knew herself she would never love any one. 

Should she then marry him ? 

Possibly — on one condition. 

She would lay her soul before him, tell him how she 
regarded life, and, then, if he still desired it, she would 
say “ yes.” 

For although her voice seemed in perfect condition, 
beneath her success was the perpetual dread. 

If her voice went, she would be nobody, while if it 
went when she was married, she would be Mrs. Charles 
Garston, a big factor in the social world. 

The voice specialist whom she had recently con- 
sulted had told her that all the chords seemed much 
stronger than when he had seen her some months 
before. 

Of the man, Charles Garston, and his life, she hardly 
thought. 

But then Garston was also only thinking of himself, 
although from a less worldly point of view. 

Anthea found herself watching the cherry trees with 
a strange intentness. 

Would they blossom before the singer came? It 
was now the second week in April, and he would come 
before the third was ended. 

The land looked very lovely in its first sweet infancy. 

Gentle breezes blew, instead of the wild hurricanes 
of twelve days back, and the trees were all trembling 
with the delight of coming life. 

She could not exactly tell why she wanted Charles 
to come to her under the cherry blossom, but she did ; 


CHERRY ISLE 


96 

and one day, when the clouds came up and a chill wind 
blew, she was really cross, and spoke quite sharply to 
Bessie about the baby’s crying. 

But Bessie did not mind. In fact, it showed her 
that she and Anthea could meet on common ground. 
She saw in the light of her own love for Jim that 
Anthea was worried, and she answered her gently. 

“ I’m that sorry, Miss ; but do you know, I think 
it’s the cold to-day that makes baby cross. Jim says 
it will shine to-morrow.” 

“ Does he ? ” asked Anthea, eagerly, and she turned 
to Bessie with wide open eyes for an instant. 

Bessie, however, was looking out of the window, 
and she made answer: 

“ Yes, and Jim knows all the tricks of the weather. 
He says the blossoms ’ull be out before next week, and 
he says they should be thicker than ever.” 

The seventeenth of April came, and the trees had 
blossomed. Anthea stood on the hillside looking 
down on the avenue of trees. The sky above her was 
a deep clear blue, and here and there, low down, were 
piled huge mountains of clouds glittering in the sun- 
light with perfect whiteness. Everywhere rose the 
cherry trees, freshly green; their white blossoms, just 
tinged with pink and lilac, filled the air with a delicate 
fragrance. 

Round about their roots, in the rough grass that 
grew beneath the trees the celandines shone yellow, 
and here and there a primrose, pale and lovely, 
gleamed ; anemones shook their heads in the faint chill 
breeze, wind flowers too dainty and short lived to sur- 


CHERRY ISLE 


97 

vive plucking. From a field far away came the call 
of the lambs. 

From far above her head fell the song of larks, and 
Anthea, to whom Nature as a rule did not appeal, 
stood looking about her with real delight. She felt 
the quick rush of her own blood leaping in union with 
the spring of Nature, and, holding her hat in her hand, 
she stood; she forgot all cares and all things ugly. 

With wide open eyes she watched the gentle move- 
ment in the branches of the cherry trees. 

And Charles Garston coming up the slope behind 
her came at exactly the right moment. 

He came up the slope almost noiselessly, and the 
wind which blew in his face carried away any sound 
that might have been audible. He watched Anthea 
for a moment before he spoke. 

She was looking upwards, and the slight wind was 
blowing the copper-colored hair into disorder; a faint 
color was in her cheeks, her lips were slightly parted, 
and her eyes were shining with pleasure. 

The whole woman was younger, more childlike, 
sweeter than he had ever seen her before, and his love 
leaped up in mastery. 

“Anthea ! ” 

She turned suddenly. The next second his arms 
were about her, and he was kissing her strange eyes, 
and smoothing the ruffled copper-colored hair. 

“ You will be my wife? ” he whispered. 

And forgetful of all her objections, heedless of her 
own knowledge of herself, she answered: 

“ Yes.” 


CHERRY ISLE 


98 

For a while she was perfectly happy, and Garston 
was in heaven. They spoke in short sentences, the 
old questions and the old answers. And then Anthea 
asked why he had come a day sooner than he had said. 

“ I came as soon as the trees blossomed,” he an- 
swered, tenderly. “ I have been home some days, and 
Jim Sanders had orders to let me know when the blos- 
soms were out. I hope you like the two — they seemed 
to me a very attractive and simple couple.” 

“ They are very attentive,” answered Anthea, casu- 
ally; “ but Herrick ” 

“Are you going to call me that always ? ” the man 
interrupted tenderly. 

Anthea smiled up at him; she was tall, but he was 
taller, and they still stood on the hillside. 

“ I never could call you Charles, or Charlie ; neither 
name seems to suit you. But I must tell you some- 
thing. I don’t like lies, they have such a trick of crop- 
ping up in unexpected places.” 

“ Is that your only objection? ” laughed Garston. 

“ Nearly the whole of it; but what I want to tell you 
is this: You remember when we first met?” 

“ I have never seen a finer entrance than you made — 
it was done to perfection.” Again he laughed. “ You 
are going to tell me that it was a premeditated en- 
trance.” 

“Yes,” said Anthea calmly. “I, of course, knew 
you by sight, and I followed you, hoping that chance 
would make us acquainted, but it was only for the sake 
of my career, for, Mr. Garston” — she drew a few 
steps away — “ that is still what I care for chiefly.” 


CHERRY ISLE 


99 


Her eyes looked into his fiercely. 

The man held his hands out, saying tenderly: 

“ I don’t believe that, Anthea. Of course, we love 
our voices; but I think we love each other as well. 
Come, dear, forget worldliness, and the world — you 
love me.” 

Anthea hesitated, and then laughed slightly. 

“ I suppose I must. I have never allowed any one 
else to kiss me before, and certainly I love your voice. ,, 

“ My enemies say I am my voice,” he cried gaily, 
“ so that will be quite all right.” 

“And supposing my voice goes ? ” Anthea asked 
abruptly. 

“ That would not matter, for you would remain,” 
replied Garston, drawing her quickly to him. 

The artist in Anthea was generations older than the 
woman, and the artist rose in rebellion ; but the newly- 
born woman was kissed into silence. 

“ You told me once,” he said presently, “ that you 
had two objects in life. You said your voice was one; 
what is the other ? ” 

Her eyelids fell and she answered rather coldly: 

“ It is one very difficult of attainment, and so I pre- 
fer not to mention it.” 

“As you like, my dearest,” said Garston, quickly; 
“ but anything you set yourself to do, I should say, 
was in a fair way of being done.” 

She gave him one quick look, a strange one, but 
made no answer. 

Presently they passed under the cherry trees, under 
the dainty lovely blossoms and on to the farm door. 


IOO 


CHERRY ISLE 


There Bessie and her husband made Garston wel- 
come, congratulated him and Anthea, and showed him 
the baby. 

With his quick delightful friendliness, he admired 
the child, and spoke of Anthea and of the lovely blos- 
soms which had bloomed for their betrothal. 

Anthea, with her eyes shielded by their lids, stood 
listening, rather coldly. 


CHAPTER XI 


Cheek and eye and lip and chin , 

These are traps to take fools in. 

—Herrick. 

Lent was late that year and Easter was well beyond 
the middle of April. The Rev. Cecil Arbuthnot was 
pale and worn after a hard six weeks’ work. The east 
winds had been very trying, and the heat coming so 
suddenly after the piercing cold took the strength out 
of every one. 

His South London parish was a heavy burden, and 
minor worries seemed to have accumulated during this 
particular spring time. Plis senior curate had resigned 
owing to a difference of opinion in ritual. Arbuthnot 
was no ritualist, he was a safe and correct Anglican, 
with strong leanings towards orderliness and some or- 
namentation. The senior curate developed rather sud- 
denly into a ritualist of an advanced description, and 
when he read the Gospel at the midday celebration, he 
kissed the pages many times and bowed continually. 
Arbuthnot limited him to two kisses and three bows, 
and the senior curate, feeling that it was due to his 
conscience to resign, obtained a curacy at a neighboring 
church. He was tall, young, red-haired, fair and 
handsome; moreover, he was cursed with a small in- 
come of his own, and had come to Arbuthnot for a 
nominal salary. In consequence of his resignation, 
several female members of the well-to-do class changed 

joi 


102 


CHERRY ISLE 


their place of worship, and this in a poor parish meant 
a serious monetary loss. 

In a personal sense this was an annoyance to Arbuth- 
not, for up till now his pale good looks, his height, and 
his evidence of aristocratic lineage had always brought 
him in an easy first, and the withdrawal of even de- 
spised adoration is unpleasant. 

Then the winter had seen strikes, and the distress 
amongst his poor parishioners had been terrible. Al- 
though as a faithful priest of the “ Establishment ” he 
disapproved of strikes, yet as a priest of God he had to 
sympathize with their victims — the strikers themselves 
and their families. 

Then again, as a man of intellect, he had to admit 
that his labors were as naught, that the methods he was 
conscientiously following were utterly futile. In addi- 
tion he had private worries. 

He had been offered by a private patron a valuable 
living — nine hundred a year in a pleasant country town 
— and he had felt bound to refuse it. 

He did not think a man of his health and strength 
should accept so easy a post; it was not fair to his 
parish to leave it at this juncture; if he had accepted 
this living he would have felt bound in honor to work 
there for at least five years. The Rev. Cecil Arbuth- 
not was a very honorable man, and there were at least 
three deans, and twice as many canons, not to mention 
several bishops, suffering from senile decay, who really 
could not last out much longer, and the Rev. Cecil 
knew that his name had a very good place in all the pre- 
arranged lists of likely candidates. 


CHERRY ISLE 


103 

Sir Lewis Mayder, one of his chief channels through 
which preferment might come, had not been pleased at 
his refusal to spend a few days with him and his 
daughter. He had pleaded press of work and lack of 
time, an absolutely genuine plea, but he had felt within 
himself that had he gone to stay with Sir Lewis he 
would have gone as a suitor for his daughter’s hand. 
It had been a semi-understood thing for years that he 
was well in the “ running ” for this — and he did not 
feel inclined to enter for the final heat. 

The spell of Anthea’s eyes and voice was upon him, 
and his cold intellectual nature was thrilled by her per- 
sonality, whilst Alys Mayder’s shrewdness, good looks 
and good nature left him completely unmoved. He 
was wise enough to recognize that Alys would be a 
most suitable wife for him, whilst marriage with An- 
thea would probably prove disastrous. But wisdom 
does not always speak with an insistent voice at thirty, 
and Arbuthnot was frankly ill at ease. 

See him now, as he stands in his coldly correct study, 
good books in good bindings, good furniture in perfect 
taste; good pictures, few in number; the window 
opened wide, the fire burning brightly ; all his papers in 
order; his writing table ready for work, with blotter, 
pens, inks, pencils, scissors, rulers, clips, Clergy List, 
post-office guide, latest blue book — all ready for refer- 
ence. 

Everything is in perfect taste, including the Rev. 
Cecil Arbuthnot, standing before his fire, garbed in 
correctly shabby, well-kept clerical garments. 

The parson had returned from a turbulent vestry 


CHERRY ISLE 


104 

meeting, wherein all his approvers had failed to appear 
and only malcontents were present. It had been hard 
and exhausting work to satisfy them without budging 
an inch from his position. 

He had triumphed but he was tired, and when his 
parlor maid announced: “ Sir Lewis Mayder to see 
you, sir,” he frowned, folded his lips together, and 
had only just time to summon a smile of welcome to 
his face before Sir Lewis, smart, small and dapper, 
came in. 

“ How do you do, my dear boy ? ” began the baronet, 
jovially; “you’re looking pale and done up. I’ve 
come from Alys to beg you to spend a few days with 
us down at Mayder House.” 

“ It’s very good of you and Alys, Sir,” answered 
Arbuthnot, shaking hands. " I was thinking of get- 
ting away for a few days now that Easter is over, but 
my plans are still uncertain.” 

“And I want to have a few words with you,” went 
on Sir Lewis. 

“ Shall we have tea then, and you can talk, for I’ve 
just been driving an eight-in-hand at my vestry, and 
they have jibbed, and I’m tired,” smiled Cecil. 

The two men talked commonplaces until the tea was 
brought in, and when they were provided with cups 
and were comfortable — Cecil’s tea was always good — 
Sir Lewis began: 

“ I don’t know if it’s common property yet, but the 
Dean of Cosdom is going to resign.” 

“ We’ve heard that rumor dozens of times,” Cecil 
made answer calmly, although had any one been feel- 


CHERRY ISLE 105 

in g his pulse he would have felt the sudden leap it 
gave. 

“ Yes, but this time it’s a fact,” retorted Sir Lewis, 
glibly. “ I was with a friend of mine who guarantees 
it.” 

“ Well, it's time enough,” answered Cecil, drily. 

“ Well, I only said that in passing; but what I really 
want to talk about is your cousin Alys,” said Sir Lewis, 
shifting himself slightly in the easy chair. 

“ Yes?” 

“ She doesn’t seem to be herself ; she’s not happy, I 
think, and if you could cheer her up it would be a good 
thing.” 

“ I am sorry to hear she isn’t well,” answered Cecil, 
gravely, who had read his cousin’s name in a list of 
those present at a big function the night before. 

“ She isn’t ill,” said Sir Lewis, quickly, “ but not up 
to the mark, you know. . . . I’ve a bit of news 

about myself for you.” 

Cecil looked politely interested and waited for the 
other to proceed. 

“ Yes, it is not every one to whom I would tell it,” 
went on Sir Lewis, confidentially; “but you are one 
of the family, as things stand, even at the present. 
Well, my boy, congratulate me; I am thinking of get- 
ting married again.” 

“ Congratulate you heartily, sir,” said Cecil, calmly ; 
" when is it to be ? ” 

“ Oh, it has not gone so far as that yet,” answered 
Sir Lewis, casting a quick glance at Cecil ; “ I said I 
was thinking of it. I don’t know if Alys has heard 


io6 


CHERRY ISLE 


of it, and anyway I am worried about her. She’s been 
such a good girl, and such a first-rate mistress of my 
house, that I cannot bear the thought of dethroning 
her. That’s how it is, my boy.” 

“ Yes, it would be rough on her, unless she found 
another home to rule as gracefully as she does yours,” 
answered Cecil slowly. 

“ Well, I’ve half an idea that she may. I hope he’ll 
be as fine a fellow as yourself, Cecil. And now good- 
bye to you; you’ll look us up early next week? ” and 
Sir Lewis scrambled nimbly to his feet and held out 
his hand to Cecil. 

“ I’ll let you know,” the clergyman answered 
thoughtfully. “ I’ve several engagements next week, 
but perhaps I can arrange it. Good-bye ! Please give 
my love to Alys.” 

Cecil went to the door with Sir Lewis, shook hands 
again, and then returned to his study. 

Of course, he knew what Sir Lewis meant, and 
equally, of course, he knew that Sir Lewis knew that 
he knew. It was all perfectly straightforward really, 
only it had to be dressed in correct language. More- 
over, Sir Lewis knew that he, Cecil, had been fond of 
Alys, soberly and staidly; what he did not know was 
that the clergyman had looked into a pair of eyes, one 
of which was brown and the other blue. 

The Rev. Cecil Arbuthnot went back into his study, 
and sat in his favorite armchair before the fire. He 
had three-quarters of an hour before even-song; one 
of the other clergy was taking it, but he always made 
a point of being there unless he had some other engage- 


CHERRY ISLE 


107 

ment, and he felt that these three-quarters of an hour 
were momentous. 

He was a man who was able to form a resolution 
and keep to it unwaveringly. 

If he accepted the invitation it would mean two 
things — he would become Dean of Cosdom, and he 
would become the husband of Alys; or, at least, he 
would offer himself for that post. 

Could he as a Christian gentleman do this ? 

Slowly he pondered, searching his mind and his soul, 
but strange to say he did not probe the third part of 
the trinity, his heart. 

It was no good objecting to the method of promo- 
tion; he knew only too well that all preferment was 
managed in this or similar ways. Merit had no chance 
by itself ; it must be merit plus influence, and he, fortu- 
nately, had both. 

He had always meant to marry Alys if she would 
have him, and he thought she would. He moved in 
his chair, and glanced round the room. A paper was 
crumpled and badly folded in the paper rack, and he 
rose to his feet, and taking it out again, mechanically 
began to smooth the folds ; as he did so, his eye caught 
the name: 

ANTHEA ARGENT 

LAST APPEARANCE OF THIS FAMOUS 
SINGER THIS SEASON 

“ We understand that Miss Argent has entirely 
recovered from her late slight indisposition. She will 
appear at one concert only, as she has been medically 


io8 


CHERRY ISLE 


advised to rest until the early autumn. Miss Argent 
owes it to the world at large to take the utmost care 
of her marvelous voice.” 

Arbuthnot sat down rather suddenly. 

Anthea was singing on Monday. Well, he would 
go and hear her and judge to what extent he was under 
her influence. 

Once the resolution was made, he dismissed the 
whole question from his mind, and went to even-song. 
So well had he learned the art of self-control, that al- 
though his curate was three minutes late, he did not 
begin the service himself. To any one who under- 
stands the immense sacrifice of an opportunity this 
subjugation of himself entailed, the Vicar of St. 
Athanasius will appear almost saintly. 

Next Sunday morning he preached one of his most 
logical, convincing and beautifully worded sermons, 
and on the Monday evening he went up to hear Anthea 
Argent sing. 

He had had the wisdom to secure a ticket before- 
hand. It was a chance one returned by its first buyer, 
and he congratulated himself upon his wisdom when 
he saw the immense queue stretching right and left. 
The huge hall was crammed, every seat filled. 

Cecil Arbuthnot coldly, calmly attentive to the va- 
rious singers, waited for the one woman’s appearance 
with strange throbbings of his well-balanced heart. 

She stood at last before him, tall and beautifully 
dressed, but about her there was an intangible change. 
Something had gone, something had come ; something 


CHERRY ISLE 


109 


been lost, something gained. As Cecil listened he for- 
got all about Alys Mayder, and his lips settled down 
into a stern line. 

A shower of melody, a glory of sound, a perfect 
voice without a flaw, and then she bowed and went. 

“ She never grants an encore,” said some one near 
him ; nor did she to-night. 

Arbuthnot left the hall. 

He stood outside in the street. It was still light, 
since it was barely nine o’clock. A wagon passed him 
and the horse was brave with ribbons. It was the first 
of May, he suddenly remembered. 

“Mr. Arbuthnot!” 

A voice called him, and he saw that a car had drawn 
up opposite to him, and that it was Anthea who called 
to him. 

He came forward and greeted her. 

“ May I give you a lift ? ” she asked ; “ I am going 
back to the Carlton, where I am staying to-night.” 

Then Cecil Arbuthnot told an indirect lie, and it was 
one of the very few he had ever uttered. 

“ It will be very good of you if you will,” he 
answered in his quiet voice, “cabs and cars are at a 
premium to-night.” 

He opened the door and stepped in. 

Anthea glanced at him from beneath her eyelids, 
and noticed that he was looking paler and older than 
when she had last seen him. Moved by a very rare 
impulse of pity, induced by her own frame of mind, 
she said kindly: 

“ You are looking far from well, Mr. Arbuthnot.” 


no CHERRY ISLE 

He took no notice of the remark, but said rather 
absently: 

“ How gloriously you sang to-night, Miss Argent. 
Music is the one treat I have indulged in this winter, 
and I have been to hear you sing three times.” 

Something in his tone caused Anthea to turn her 
head and look quickly at him, and he caught a glimpse 
of her eyes; but she saw only a very correct parson, 
whose face was as calm as usual. 

But the glint of her eyes had acted on Arbuthnot as 
some magic philtre, and he spoke rather stiffly, looking 
rigidly at the back of the chauffeur. 

“ I wish to consult you about a very important 
matter. I wonder if you could give me a few minutes 
to-night.” 

The successful singer was in a gracious mood, and 
she answered pleasantly: 

“ I hardly ever see any one after singing, but,” she 
seemed to Arbuthnot to be making a rapid calculation, 
“ if you will promise not to stay more than a few 
minutes, I shall be glad to see you when we reach the 
Carlton.” 

“ Thank you,” he answered, very gravely. 

Anthea was slightly puzzled. What did he want 
to say ? He could not surely want to propose to her ? 
True, they had seen a good deal of each other during 
that week with the Mayders, but she knew him much 
too slightly. 

Anthea was observant, but she had not noticed that 
time is of no account — occasionally. 

Of course, since she had become famous the number 


CHERRY ISLE 


in 


of her admirers had been legion. A few of them had 
been attracted by her personality, the majority by the 
glamour that surrounds a public character of any sort 
— particularly of Anthea’ s sort and sex. It was, how- 
ever, quite out of the question to place Cecil Arbuthnot 
in either of these categories. 

He was so lofty, so very correct. As a matter of 
fact, he made Anthea feel rather young and childish, 
just a little bit as if she had been a naughty girl, and 
she felt relieved when the car pulled up at the hotel. 

“ I do not like lifts,” said Anthea over her shoulder 
to Cecil ; “ we will go up the stairs ; my sitting-room 
is on the first floor.” 

She went up to the table and stood there a moment 
as Cecil shut the door, and then she threw off her cloak 
and said: 

“ You have dined, I suppose? ” 

“ Yes.” 

Cecil Arbuthnot left the window towards which he 
had walked on his entrance, and faced Anthea. She 
was on one side of the oval table, he on the other. 

“ Miss Argent,” he began abruptly, “ a deanery lies 
within my grasp.” 

Anthea, considerably astonished and wondering if 
he wanted her to sing in the cathedral, answered 
politely: 

“ I congratulate you.” 

“ It is not mine,” corrected Cecil ; “ I said it lay 
within my grasp.” 

“ I do not understand,” she said coldly, her eyelids 
lowered and her manner stiff. 


112 


CHERRY ISLE 


Cecil Arbuthnot put his white hands upon the table, 
and the pressure drove the blood beneath the well-kept 
nails. 

“ How should you ? ” he asked almost in a whisper. 
“ But if I accept the deanery, then I shall not be free 
to say to you that which I have come to say.” 

Anthea drew back suddenly, and lifting her eyes 
looked straight into Cecil’s white face. 

“ Oh, don’t!” she began hurriedly. 

But Cecil had seen her eyes again, those eyes so 
repellent to some men and women, so strangely attract- 
ive to others, and he leaned forward and said in a low 
quick voice: 

“ No, I must speak. Anthea, I love you; although 
it is probably out of the question that you love me.” 

“ Please, please, don’t ! Oh, how dreadful ! I — 
ah ! ” she broke off, as some one turned the handle. 
“ Oh, Herrick, here you are ! ” 

Cecil, astonished at the strange reception she had 
given the proposal, turned and saw Charles Garston in 
the doorway. 

Anthea recovered her self-possession, and turning 
to Cecil Arbuthnot, said: 

“ I always call my husband Herrick.” 

“ Your husband! ” exclaimed Arbuthnot. 

Garston came forward, hand outheld. 

“ Yes, old man, and you are really one of the first 
to know it. Am I not in luck? Anthea and I were 
married last week, and she had to break the honeymoon 
to come and keep this engagement; to-morrow we’re 
off to Norway for the summer.” 


CHERRY ISLE 


Ii3 

Mechanically Cecil shook his hand, saying: 

“ Congratulations, Garston ! ” 

A very faint color had crept up into the priest’s pale 
face and at least one and a half inches was added to 
his height, as he bowed rigidly to Anthea. 

“Good-night, then, Mrs. Garston; my errand was 
superfluous, and I regret that I have troubled you.” 

Bowing a second time, he left them. 

" What’s wrong ? ” demanded Garston, encircling 
Anthea with his arms. 

She leaned against his shoulder, looking up into his 
handsome face and said tremulously: 

“ I couldn’t stop him. He was proposing marriage.” 

“ Poor chap ! I say, Anthea, I am sorry — he is such 
a good sort, but I quite understand.” 

He stooped and kissed her eyes. 

A strange expression swept across the woman’s 
face, and she leaned passively against her husband’s 
shoulder. 

Cecil Arbuthnot walked home that night, although 
it took him a good two hours. 

His face was as calm as ever, but inwardly the man 
was cold with anger and most deeply wounded. 

He, Cecil Arbuthnot, whose honor had always been 
kept in a state of crystalline polish, had been allowed to 
propose to a married woman ! That his love had been 
rejected meant a good deal to him, but of that he was 
not thinking; Anthea must have known what he wanted 
to say. He felt himself humiliated and degraded, and 
a deep bitter resentment sprang up within him. 


CHERRY ISLE 


114 

He was conscious of this resentment, and knew 
that, according to his creed, he ought to smother and 
strangle it before it grew too strong. That it existed 
was due to Garston and to Anthea, and like nearly all 
men he was telling himself that it was the woman’s 
fault. When he reached home he remembered that 
he must write to Sir Lewis to refuse or accept his 
invitation. 

He stood in his cold chill room, holding a pen in 
his hand, for the answer must be written and posted 
that night. 

He walked to the window. The world outside was 
quiet. A heavy-footed policeman passed, glancing up 
at the light in the window as he did so ; a cart rolled in 
the distance ; some one who looked like a demon rider, 
and sounded like one, sped past on a motor bicycle. 

Arbuthnot went back to the table, then to the chair. 

It was cold and he drew his Inverness round him 
and sat down. 

On one side he saw a deanery, which meant a bish- 
opric; a wife of whom he would be fond and with 
whom he would get on, great wealth, tremendous 
powers of well doing, and the whole of life on the 
lines on which he had always looked for it. 

Against this, two strange eyes, and a voice — for 
these were all he knew of Anthea. 

Could he in honor offer himself to Alys now? 

The rectitude, the uncompromising stiffness of the 
morale of the clergyman, answered “ No.” 

He did not parley with temptation, he wrote a cour- 
teously worded letter of regret to Alys, pleading the 


CHERRY ISLE 115 

impossibility of leaving his parish at that particular 
moment. 

He went out and posted the letter and returned grim 
and stern. 

He did not go to bed, but sat down in his chair once 
more. Before him Anthea’s eyes seemed to dance and 
her voice seemed to fill the air. Though she was the 
wife of another man, Cecil could not forget. 

Added to this was a deep and bitter resentment, an 
outraged sense of honor. 

In fact, he had driven forth one demon, had gar- 
nished and cleared his rooms, and perhaps all unknown 
to himself, seven other demons were already seeking 
entrance, and the seven demons were fiercer than the 
first.. 


CHAPTER XII 


For the evil , evil days 
Will come on apace. 

— Herrick. 

Anthea Garston, famous singer, wealthy woman, 
envied wife of the greatest tenor the world had ever 
heard, sat reading her correspondence in her room. 

She had been married five years. 

She was perhaps rather thinner, the lines of her face 
were rather more set, but this was all. The copper- 
colored hair was as beautiful and as simply dressed as 
ever, the eyes as persistently half-closed, and the lower 
half of the face still contradicted the upper half. 

She had attained everything — much more than she 
had ever dreamed of. Her career as a singer had been 
one long success: her husband’s name and fame had 
been a powerful factor; and not once since her mar- 
riage had her voice failed her. 

Charles, her husband, or as she always called him, 
Herrick, had almost forgotten that such a thing might 
be, or ever could happen, and she herself had placed it 
in the category of “ the most unlikely.” 

It was a weakness outgrown. Anthea always took 
care of herself, and she had no children. 

She was not disappointed, for she did not love little 
ones; she had been surrounded by unhappy children 
ii 6 


CHERRY ISLE 


117 

in her own young days, and she knew that they add 
incalculably to the burden of life. 

Her husband, if he thought differently, never spoke 
of it. It is true he seemed fond of little Herrick San- 
ders, their god-child, and he had insisted upon spend- 
ing a few days at the farm each year. Anthea feared 
he would do so again this year, but it was only March 
as yet, and he always chose the early part of May. 

As she sat turning over various papers, she heard 
Garston’s step outside. 

He came in quickly and lightly, and glanced for a 
moment at Anthea, who, however, did not raise her 
eyes. So he crossed to the fireplace, and leaning his 
back against the mantelpiece, faced her with his hands 
in his pockets. The shaded electric light fell on the 
man’s face, and the years had aged him if not the 
woman. Gone was the slight expression of satisfac- 
tion which had marked it; he looked moody and not 
particularly happy, and various lines could be seen on 
the still smooth and young face. 

“ Well, Anthea,” he said, abruptly. 

“ Yes, Herrick,” she answered rather absently. 

“ I wonder if you remember that you have not seen 
me for three days,” he said, bitterly. 

She looked at him from beneath her eyelids. 

“ I was wondering,” she said slowly, “ if you had 
forgotten it yourself.” 

In an instant he was across the room and kissing her 
very fondly. 

“ I’m a brute, my darling,” he said rather hoarsely, 
“ but I thought you really weren’t thinking of it.” 


Ii8 


CHERRY ISLE 


“ I might be forgiven, Herrick, I think,” she an- 
swered, “ when you think of what I have to do to- 
morrow.” 

“ What is that? ” he asked unthinkingly. 

She drew herself away coldly, saying: 

“ Your memory is short to-night, and your interest 
in my career is never very keen.” 

“ What an ass I am ! ” cried Garston, trying to draw 
her to him; “ but I always think of you as my wife, 
you know, and not as the great singer whom every 
common Johnnie can pay to go and hear and see.” 

Anthea stood up, disengaging herself from her hus- 
band’s arms, crossed to the piano, and began to turn 
over some music. Garston, seeing that he had made 
matters worse, sat down on the chair she had just left, 
and said shortly: 

“ It’s our rest day, I know, but could you just try 
over one or two phrases of that duet we sing next 
week ? I don’t care for the tempo at one point, and I 
think we might improve it.” 

Anthea nodded, and a few minutes afterwards they 
were singing snatches of melody together, as if their 
souls were in perfect harmony. 

But each was conscious of a jarring, Garston more 
so than Anthea. He was a man, and had always been 
successful; in his masculine egoism Anthea was his 
wife first and a singer secondly, and he would have 
been perfectly content if she had dropped the second 
vocation and had existed only in the former. 

For Anthea was still a cold mystery to him, still dif- 
ferent from any other woman; the spell of her strange 


CHERRY ISLE 


119 

eyes, rarely seen by him after the first few weeks of 
their life together, still held him by its power. 

She was so still, so cold, so completely occupied with 
her ambitions, so utterly bent upon perfecting perfec- 
tion in her voice, so indifferent to all the things that, 
according to his creed as a man of the world, women 
should care for. 

She never lost her temper, only very occasionally 
said bitter things, was always attentive to him, and 
ordered everything efficiently, always permitted him 
to kiss her and make love to her — and he felt that he 
knew her no better for the five years they had spent to- 
gether than after the first few minutes of that advent 
of hers under the cherry blossoms. 

Was he to blame? 

Perhaps he was. They had almost reached the point 
of going their separate ways mentally; at least, Gar- 
ston felt that he would soon have to give up attempting 
to walk by Anthea. 

On this particular evening, however, he felt that he 
had been tactless to forget that on which all Anthea’s 
soul had been set for many months. 

A great International Society was holding its meet- 
ing in London that March — a society composed of the 
intellects of the world, great men and great women 
from every land, of every religion, of every shade of 
color, all bound together by the great free-masonry of 
brain. 

The man who by his mighty powers had turned 
deserts into granaries, the woman who by the magic of 
her impersonations made men and women forget and 


120 


CHERRY ISLE 


believe, the artist who caught the truth and held her up 
for nations to look upon, the poet, the financier who 
ruled states, the woman who governed men by right 
of her royal dower of womanhood, the man who knew 
the secrets of hearts, the dusky Seer from the East — 
these and many more were meeting in conclave, and 
out of a world choice they had selected Anthea Argent 
to sing to them. 

Other great singers had been willing and eager, 
over eager, but she had been chosen, and she felt that 
her ambition was about to be fulfilled, her desire 
granted. 

Her husband had, momentarily, forgotten this, and 
yet he had sung at their last conclave. 

He played a few bars now of the song she was go- 
ing to sing, and then, turning round rather abruptly, 
said : 

“Anthea, when you sing to-morrow, do open your 
eyes and look straight ahead.” 

She smiled faintly. 

“ It’s not a bit of good telling me to do that, Her- 
rick. I have suffered so badly from taunts about my 
eyes that although I know you like them, I know and 
feel that they give other people a shock, and I simply 
can’t get over the habit of hiding them.” 

“I wish you could,” he said regretfully; “why, my 
wife, do you know that I still dream of them, and 
hardly ever see them ? ” 

Anthea again smiled, but she did not do as nearly 
every other woman would have done had they heard 
the note of appeal in his voice. She did not raise her 


CHERRY ISLE 


121 


lids: they seemed to droop more heavily than before, 
and Garston jumped up from the music stool with an 
impatient gesture. 

“You had better go to bed early,” he said; “you 
look perfectly fit, and your voice is divine.” 

“ Do you really think so ? ” and Anthea turned to 
him with a quick movement of appeal. 

“ Think so — of course I do ! ” he answered roughly. 
“ You are all voice, you know, and no heart.” 

“ Herrick,” she said suddenly, not hearing what he 
said, and as she looked at him the strange eyes filled 
with a sudden terror, “ supposing my voice failed me.” 

He laughed. 

“ It was all a case of nerves and lack of nourish- 
ment: you are absolutely safe, my dear. Now go to 
bed and sleep; I never knew you nervous before.” 

“ Did you ever know me anything, I wonder? ” she 
asked, slowly. “ I believe, Herrick, I know you better 
than you know me.” 

He eyed her gloomily. Oh, these jarring strings 
that never cease to jangle! How we will play upon 
them! 

“ Good-night,” he said. 

He went away ; he did not kiss her ; he was feeling 
all out of tune, as he had felt so many times lately. 

Was his marriage a mistake f 

Was it not better for two artists not to wed? 
Would he not have been happier with an ordinary 
wife? . . . 

Alas, he had begun to ask himself these questions! 

In certain moods he felt aggrieved. He had prac- 


122 


CHERRY ISLE 


tically made her, had given her opportunity, and she 
seemed to have forgotten this ! 

Anthea barely noticed her husband’s departure. She 
sat down at the piano and played very softly, and as 
she played the thought of her mother, and her own 
second purpose in life, began to occupy her mind. Her 
poor young mother whose grief-dimmed brown eyes 
had looked out so drearily on the world, the mother, 
who as a child, a girl, had loved so wildly and sang so 
divinely, but who had lost all with the losing of her 
voice ! 

Anthea ceased playing, and her lips grew grimmer 
as she thought of the man without whose sin she would 
not have been. 

The man with the blue eyes, who had loved music 
and had cursed her, as it seemed, with his own cruel 
nature, and given her such strange eyes. 

She went on playing, no longer softly, but harshly, 
in quick sharp spasms, and the music sounded cruel. 
It was an old long-forgotten folk song, that had burned 
itself into her memory, in which the betrayed woman 
is cursing the cruelty of her lover. 

As Anthea played — she sang — for the man who was 
her father still lived: still clothed himself in soft rai- 
ment, still was received everywhere, and still therefore 
able to be cast down into the dust, still able to be made 
to suffer as he had made suffer the child-mother of the 
famous singer who never forgot. 

Anthea rose from the piano, smiling rather unpleas- 
antly at herself, and went towards her bedroom, which 
opened into her sitting-room. 


CHERRY ISLE 


123 


Then suddenly she discovered that she could not find 
the handle ; all the furniture of the room seemed to be 
receding into the distance, growing smaller and smaller, 
and she staggered against the jamb of the door. 

It was over in an instant, and everything came back 
with a rush ; but she recognized with a qualm of dis- 
gust that she had felt faint, and since she had never 
before experienced such a sensation, she was indignant 
with herself. It had been folly to think of the past, 
and to sing that old folk song ; it had always upset her 
mother, and now it seemed it was too much for her — 
and promptly and wisely she went to bed, and slept 
exceedingly well. 


CHAPTER XIII 


Grief, my dear friend, has first my harp unstrung, 
Withered my hand, and palsy struck my tongue. 

— Herrick. 

Picture to yourself a great reception-room, capable 
of holding two thousand guests. 

The walls are hung with paintings lent for the 
occasion, and each painting is the work of a master. 

Statues and bronzes are placed here and there, and 
the floor is carpeted so thickly that the clumsiest feet 
are soundless. At one end, where the huge room be- 
comes semi-circular in shape, is a small platform, and 
on the platform a grand piano. 

The place is lighted, not too brilliantly, by electric 
light, and the air is fresh with the smell of spring. For 
the flowers that adorn the room are daffodils and prim- 
roses. The men and women move about and talk to- 
gether gaily, finding it difficult occasionally to make 
themselves understood by one another, but there are 
interpreters, and handshakes and smiles go a long way. 

They have talked and consulted together earlier in 
the week; now they all meet to learn something of one 
another. 

There are many faces we should know; there are 
others almost unknown to the public and yet their 
124 


CHERRY ISLE 


125 


influence upon the future is such that without these 
lives the future would not be as it shall be. Some of 
these men and women are from the mysterious East, 
the birthplace of religions, from whose ancient lands 
comes the sound of footsteps ever pressing onward, 
and the tread of whose dusky feet has echoed down 
the ages. 

The supreme moment of Anthea’s life was at hand. 
She who worshiped power and intellect and genius 
was to delight the genius of the world. As the silent 
clock pointed to ten, Garston came across the room, 
and gave her his arm. Slowly they walked together, 
a very striking couple. 

The man is in faultless evening dress, and wears 
certain decorations bestowed upon him by mighty 
rulers; the woman by him is dressed in pale wine- 
purple velvet, and wears rare amethysts of darker hue 
than her robe. 

Anthea walked very evenly, but her husband saw in 
the quick comprehensive glance which he had given 
her as he offered his arm that her lips were lying very 
straightly one on the other, and that her marvelous 
magnetic eyes were well hidden by the white eyelids. 

She looked strangely like a statue, he thought, as 
they walked slowly up the long room. How wonder- 
ful she was, this wife of his, with her voice of glory, 
and her cold still soul set in her unique personality ! 

Of what was she thinking as they walked together 
up the long room? Trying to answer this question, 
he recognized with a shock that he had not the vaguest 
notion. He stood back as she mounted the two steps. 


126 


CHERRY ISLE 


She stood beside the piano waiting for him to take 
his seat, and sound the prelude to her triumph. Every 
face was turned towards the little platform. Eyes of 
every shade and color were looking at Anthea, from 
the cold bleak blue of the northern seer, to the still 
unsounded depth of black of the prophets of the race 
of the children of the sun. No sound came from the 
audience ; they waited to hear a language which spoke 
to all of them in their own tongue, as did the cosmo- 
politan crowd after the feast of Pentecost. 

Garston played the first few bars of the accompani- 
ment. The song began with a long soft crooning cry, 
wonderfully compelling. Garston sat expectantly 
waiting to hear the weird music his wife had sung the 
previous evening. 

But it never came. 

He looked up at his wife, prolonging the prelude 
skilfully. He saw that a death-like hue had crept 
over her face, that her lips were rigid, and that her 
eyes were wide open, looking, as it seemed, into the 
depths of hell. . . . 

The tall figure in the rich pale purple never moved ; 
she stood as if transformed to marble. 

He whispered sharply: 

“Anthea ! ” 

She spoke to him, and his keen ear heard the quality 
of her voice almost before the words were uttered. 

“ My voice is thin.” 

“ Try, it will come back,” and he played on. 

“ No, it is hopelessly gone.” 

Had Garston known his wife, he would not hav* 


CHERRY ISLE 


127 


acted as he did; but not knowing her he did what he 
thought was best. It completely saved the situation, 
whatever else it lost. He spoke unhesitatingly, and 
with quick command, and Anthea, shattered and un- 
hinged, obeyed unthinkingly. 

“ Play, and I will sing instead of you.” 

He rose. Anthea sat down and began to play me- 
chanically. Garston offered no explanation to the 
audience. 

Garston’s voice took up the long crooning cry, 
Anthea mechanically transposing the music to suit 
him. 

Low and sweet and full, the man’s voice filled the 
room with melody, and over the faces of the listeners 
there crept a stillness that meant the music had ap- 
pealed to them. 

But for the first time, her husband’s wonderful gift', 
instead of coming with healing power came with 
hideous pain to Anthea’s ears; the music was not to 
her the voice of an angel ; it was the savage triumph 
of a demon. 

He was singing in her place! He was enchanting 
this wonderful collection of men and women when it 
should have been hers to do so. 

At the supreme moment of her life the gods had 
struck, and Anthea within herself cursed her Creator, 
who had endowed her with a gift only to destroy it. 

When the song was finished, Garston bowed. 
Anthea rose and bowed also. They stepped from the 
platform, and husband and wife passed down the 
room. 


128 


CHERRY ISLE 


“Take me to the door,” she whispered, and in 
silence he obeyed. 

As they walked down the room, the men and women 
thanked him, or — a greater tribute — remained silent, 
still in the enchanted land to which he had led them. 

Charles waited while the attendant fetched Anthea’s 
cloak and furs. 

“ Shall I come ? ” he asked as he put her into the car. 

“ No.” 

The car moved away, and Garston stood bareheaded 
on the pavement. 

He drew a deep breath and walked slowly back into 
the building. 

He was obeying his wife, but it would have been 
better for both of them had he disobeyed her. 

A member of the committee stepped up to him as he 
made his way back to the reception-room. 

“ I’m dreadfully sorry,” explained Garston hur- 
riedly, “ but my wife’s throat gave out suddenly, and 
there was nothing else to be done.” 

“ No, no, I see there was not,” said the other sym- 
pathetically ; “please convey to your wife our sym- 
pathy, and tell her how disappointed we were.” 

Garston mingled once more with the great folk. 
But he never knew how that evening ended, or to 
whom he had spoken; he was vaguely conscious of 
exchanging remarks, of going from one to another, 
and being told how wonderfully his song had been 
sung (his song!), but it was all a nightmare, and he 
left as early as he could. 

As his car drew up outside his home he became 


CHERRY ISLE 


129 

aware, suddenly, that his hands were trembling, and 
that he was feeling sick and cold. 

Anthea’ s maid met him in the hall. Her mistress 
had gone to bed, and did not wish to be disturbed. 

Charles turned into the smoking-room, and lit a 
cigar. Poor Anthea ! She cared so tremendously for 
this song! Well, he had saved the occasion, but — he 
remembered that as Anthea had stepped into her car 
she had raised her eyes and looked at him, and some- 
how — 

Hang it all, he would go to bed ! 

He went to his room, and tried the handle of the 
door which communicated with Anthea’s. It was 
locked. This was nothing new, but he would have 
given much if only he could have gained access to 
her. But she made no ' sign, and he turned away 
impatiently, and, since he was tired, he fell asleep 
fairly soon. 


CHAPTER XIV 


Where shall I go, 

Or whither run. 

To shun 

This public overthrow f 

—Herrick. 

Anthea heard her husband’s touch upon the door, 
for she was standing in the middle of the room. She 
had dismissed her maid, and had since been walking 
up and down the floor. 

She had replaced the pale purple dress with a loose 
dressing gown. Once she paused before her mirror 
and stood gazing at herself. She looked pale and hag- 
gard, and her strange eyes gazed back at her fiercely. 
Then she heard Garston turn the handle. 

As she stood, a horrible nausea crept over her, and 
the walls seemed to melt away into the distance. She 
had barely strength to stagger to the bed, before the 
faintness completely overcame her. She flung herself 
down, darkness seemed to spring out of the light and 
seize her in its grasp, and she became unconscious. 

The night passed in alternate intervals of dozing and 
faintness, and in the morning Anthea felt wretchedly 
ill. 


CHERRY ISLE 


131 

She insisted, however, upon rising, and she made an 
appointment on the telephone with her voice specialist. 
Her husband she refused to see, sending word she was 
too shattered to receive any one. 

Anthea was waiting until she had been to the doc- 
tor’s. She herself thought, with Garston, that it was 
a case of nerves. 

As she tried to eat a little breakfast in her room, she 
was conscious that her mind was a blank; one thing 
alone reared its sinister head every now and then — a 
bitter and unreasoning sense of injury against Herrick, 
to whom the gods had given everything. The mere 
thought of seeing his handsome face, wearing the 
slightly troubled expression that it had done of late, 
set all her nerves jarring; in her trouble, alas, she had 
no desire to seek consolation from the man who loved 
her, loved her very dearly even if in a rather selfish 
manner. 

Several newspaper men and women were waiting 
outside to take snapshots of the famous singer as she 
stepped into her car ; they had already secured Garston 
himself, and Anthea with her slow stately movements 
was even better game. 

Her portrait filled dozens of little servant girls, hun- 
dreds of shop girls, and thousands of factory girls with 
envy. 

It is a trying moment, that moment or hour waiting 
in the doctor’s room. The room is either fearfully 
stuffy, or appallingly draughty, the paper one would 
prefer to read is being read by one’s bitterest enemy — 
the patient who is just a few minutes ahead of one: 


132 


CHERRY ISLE 


all the other papers are old ones ; the light is bad, the 
comfortable chair is occupied, and, above all, the air 
is heavy with possible tragedy. 

This man reading the paper so calmly, who is 
dressed with such scrupulous care, whose toilet is im- 
maculate in every detail — this man in six months’ time 
will be food for worms. He has come to the specialist 
as to a court of appeal, but there will be no remittance 
of the sentence. 

This woman, heavy eyed and pale, whose eyes wan- 
der round the room, whose nervous agitation is pal- 
pable in the movements of her hands, has come to 
make an appointment for her only daughter. She 
wishes to see him first, for she knows deep within her 
terror-stricken heart that he can give them no com- 
fort; it will mean another operation — for the hideous 
growth has come again. 

Anthea, pale and still, arrived at the exact moment 
of her appointment, and she knew that she would not 
be kept waiting more than a few minutes ; nor was she. 

Within five minutes she was being ushered into the 
room, and the specialist came forward, bowing. He 
was a small red-haired man, with just a faint suspicion 
of the sidesman manner in church or chapel. A kindly 
man in the main, and one who was able to take all 
things into account, also a quick-tempered man; but 
only his hospital patients knew this. 

He spoke with genuine sympathy. 

“ I was so sorry to receive your message, Mrs. Gar- 
ston ; I had hoped that this tiresome complaint of yours 
had worn itself out.” 


CHERRY ISLE 


133 

Anthea shook hands, but her lips did not smile, nor 
did she raise her eyelids. 

“ It is tiresome/’ she answered quietly ; “ it was a 
particularly important occasion also, and nothing has 
gone wrong for a good many years now.” 

“General health good?” inquired Dr. Dumfry, as 
he adjusted instruments and arranged the lights. 

Anthea flung her furs on to the sofa, and sat down 
in the chair. 

“Yes,” she said, “perfectly good. Oh, I forgot. 
No, I felt rather queer and faint twice yesterday, and 
the day before, but then this song has worried me a 
good deal.” 

“Ah! no, that way, please, yes, a little wider. I 
wish all my patients were as obedient as you, Mrs. 
Garston, and as calm.” 

Anthea sat perfectly still, wondering if Dr. Dumfry 
knew that the blood was pulsing wildly through her 
veins, and that a great terror was upon her. 

He finished his examination, said “ Thank you ” 
gravely, and stood looking rather thoughtfully out of 
the window. 

“ I find the chords in a slightly abnormal condition, 
Mrs. Garston, but there is absolutely nothing wrong 
that time will not put right ; it may, in fact, be a matter 
of congratulation — but let me advise you to consult 
your family physician on this point. Rest will be the 
program.” 

He turned to her, smiling very pleasantly. 

Of course, he knew of her family history, that is, of 
the essential point — her strange hereditary weakness, 


134 


CHERRY ISLE 


and as he spoke he was thinking of this. Anthea was 
facing him; she had picked up her furs, and was just 
flinging them round her neck ; as she did so, she lifted 
her eyelids and looked at him. 

Dr. Dumfry started. Anthea made a strange ges- 
ture with her hands, and then in a second recovered 
her self-control and bowed. 

“ Thank you, of course I understand, and my doctor. 
Dr. Alice Hooker, will write to you.” 

Dr. Dumfry rang his bell and then walked towards 
the door by Anthea’ s side. 

“ Your voice will probably be better for a prolonged 
rest,” he said, consolingly. 

“ Possibly,” said Anthea in her coolest tones. 
“Again, thank you ; you have been very kind.” 

The specialist returned to his room frowning, think- 
ing to himself : 

“ It’s a question whether artists should marry. 
Jove ! what a start her eyes gave me ! Queer affliction, 
or peculiar beauty, I really don’t know which. Any- 
way, she won’t sing for a year to come, now.” 

Anthea drove to Dr. Alice Hooker. 

As she left half an hour afterwards, the doctor’s 
hearty congratulations were ringing in her ears. 

Charles was out to lunch; Anthea cancelled several 
engagements for the remainder of the day, and de- 
clared herself “ not at home.” 

She dined alone, and then sat waiting in her room 
for her husband’s return. He had telephoned from 
various places, and would be in about half-past nine. 

She was dressed in a simple clinging gown of one of 


CHERRY ISLE 


135 


her favorite shades of dull blue, for dull blue toned 
best with her copper-colored hair, and she was leaning 
back in an easy chair. The fire was burning dully, the 
lights were turned down, and the room was in semi- 
darkness. 

Outside the streets were fairly quiet, and only an 
occasional shriek of machinery or yell of hooter, or 
rumble of wheels broke the half silence. 

Anthea, her eyes widely open, her white long-fin- 
gered hands clasped upon her lap, was looking into the 
dully burning coals. 


CHAPTER XV 


Why dost thou wound and break my heart, 

As if we should for ever part f 

— Herrick. 

She heard the clock in the hall chime the half-hour 
after nine, and almost at the same instant her hus- 
band’s step sounded outside. 

He was going to his dressing-room. 

Ten minutes passed, and then the door was opened, 
and he came in. 

He felt nervous. He, the accomplished man of the 
world, and the greatly desired everywhere, quite fre- 
quently felt nervous in the presence of his wife. He 
stood a moment now at the door, and then came to- 
wards her rather slowly. But she did not turn; she 
still looked into the fire. The man noticed with his 
quick powers of observation that as he came across the 
room her eyelids fell. 

“ Well, my darling,” he said as he stooped and 
kissed his wife’s white forehead. 

Anthea, despite all her control, shrank away ever so 
slightly, and Garston immediately straightened him- 
self, and said in rather casual tones: 

“ I telephoned to Dr. Dumfry, but he was out and 
had left word that there was nothing wrong. It’s just 
nerves, I suppose ? ” 

136 


CHERRY ISLE 


137 

“ Dr. Dumfry advised me to go to my own doctor, 
and I did so.” 

A queer sort of shock passed through Garston; he 
had been lighting a cigarette, but his hand began to 
tremble, and he flung the cigarette into the fire, but he 
waited for her to go on. 

“ You will probably be glad to hear that Dr. Hooker 
congratulated me — and you! At last, Herrick, your 
wishes are to be gratified ; I am going to have a child, 
and must not sing for at least a year.” 

Charles Garston stood absolutely still for a moment, 
the blood ebbing and flowing in his brain. He never 
thought what this news might mean to his wife: he 
forgot that her mother's voice had gone forever when 
her child came; he forgot, perhaps had never fully 
understood, that Anthea was not as many other 
women, and that her gift and her ambition were her 
whole life. He only remembered that at last his un- 
spoken longing was to be fulfilled: at last, after all 
these years, he was to have a child. 

He had been standing at a little distance, and now he 
stepped forward and knelt down by his wife, encircling 
her with his arms, and drawing her to him. 

“ My wife, my wife ! ” he said quickly in his lovely 
voice, made sweeter by his emotion ; “ at last ! Ah, 
you cannot tell what this news of yours means to me. 
A link to bind us together, and then we can never drift 
apart ! Oh, Anthea ! ” 

Kneeling by her he looked up, and met the gaze of 
her uncanny eyes: scorn, horror, despair, many ex- 
pressions, but none of hope and mother-love. 


CHERRY ISLE 


138 

“ You speak characteristically, Herrick,” she said 
slowly, and leaning back so as to free herself from his 
arms ; “ it is undoubtedly good news to you.” 

He shrank away, and a genuinely puzzled expression 
came into his face. 

“ But so it is to you, surely, Anthea, for you are a 
woman? ” 

She stood up suddenly, almost casting her husband 
from her, and her voice, although still “ thin,” was 
deep with passion and rebellion. 

‘‘A woman — yes, -to my soul’s tragedy.' I am clothed 
in woman flesh, but all I care for is my voice; my 
voice and my success, and they are gone forever. The 
night that should have been my apotheosis was yours. 
I was disgraced before the world that matters, my 
dreams are broken, and my life is done. You who had 
conquered always and never known defeat cannot un- 
derstand that if I had not been fool enough to marry 
I should also have triumphed. My mother lost her 
voice forever in that hideous hour of my birth, and so 
it will be when your child is born; but that will not 
matter to you, for I am only a woman, an adjunct of 
a man. But there, Herrick; let us drop the subject; 
you at least are satisfied.” 

The anger died out of her voice, leaving only cold- 
ness ; the lids of her eyes were again lowered, and she 
moved wearily towards the fire. 

Garston had risen to his feet when she repulsed him, 
and now he stood looking at her rather blankly. 

“ I say, Anthea, I'm awfully sorry you look at it 
like that.” 


CHERRY ISLE 139 

“And are you not — as a musician, of course — sorry 
that my voice is sacrificed ? ” The cold mockery in 
Anthea’s voice was indescribable. 

He shifted his position, seeking for comfort to give 
his wife. 

“ Why, of course I am sorry; but it will come back 
again, I expect, and oh! Anthea, just supposing the 
child has a voice which holds the best of both of ours.” 

Anthea turned round sharply, and looked with wide 
open eyes at her husband — and then without another 
word walked slowly into her room and shut the door 
quietly behind her. 

Garston, his hands in his pockets, stood looking 
moodily at the door ; that firm quiet shut seemed preg- 
nant with meaning. 

He loved Anthea so very dearly. Of course, he 
admired and loved her voice, but it was Anthea he 
loved most of all, and his heart grew cold with sudden 
dread. 

Suppose the coming child should prove a barrier 
rather than a link? 

But no, that was impossible! Of course, the loss 
of her voice had been something of a shock to the poor 
girl; moreover, she was obviously not herself. Of 
course, if her real voice never came back, it would be a 
fearful loss. But there could be little doubt that it 
would. He had been clumsy and selfish, but then he 
had only had himself to think of for so many years; 
besides Anthea was always so coldly independent that 
it was not to be wondered at that he had got into the 
trick of self-worship. 


CHERRY ISLE 


140 

He looked wistfully at his wife’s door. The key 
clicked ; she had locked it. With a shrug and a strange 
tightening of the muscles of his throat, he turned away 
and left the room. 

Still, although he was genuinely sorry about An- 
thea’s voice, he was conscious of a sense of satisfac- 
tion. She would be more at home, she would be more 
his wife; it would be more real, this strange marriage 
of his. 

As soon as Anthea heard her husband leave the 
room she rang for her maid, and told her she would 
not require her any further. 

Then, alone again, she locked the door, and began 
to pace the room. 

Wild passion came and went within her mind. Was 
it for this she had striven and starved and finally 
conquered? Was she, after all, to be just an ordinary 
woman ? 

She stood before her mirror, and her strange eyes 
glittered as she looked into them. From her child- 
hood upwards she had been a torture to herself, and as 
she gazed at herself she felt tragedy rising within 
her. 

Her poor girl-mother, whom she knew only as the 
hack singer, what had she not suffered? She traced 
the sequence backwards. Ah well! she still had an 
object in life. 

Then she turned away, and began again to walk up 
and down, up and down, all the demons of rebellion 
against nature and against nature’s God, alive within 
her. 


CHERRY ISLE 


141 

And in this manner Anthea, child of sorrow, began 
her journey on the steep and holy road that leads to 
maternity. 

Charles had slept fairly well, but he woke in the 
morning with a sense of impending tragedy. 

As he dressed he wondered if Anthea would come 
to breakfast. If she were not annoyed, she nearly 
always passed through his room on her way down- 
stairs, for she was always extremely punctual, never 
late, but never too soon, and the way through his 
room was nearer the breakfast room by almost half a 
minute. 

He found himself listening with a sort of cold fear 
to her movements in the next room; her voice was just 
audible, speaking to her maid. Then the maid went 
out ; in two minutes Anthea would go down-stairs. 

He put down his brushes and strode towards the 
door that communicated with his wife’s room. He 
would be hanged if he would allow her to make him 
feel such a fool; if she did not come to him, he would 
go to her. He turned the handle, but the door was 
locked, and he heard Anthea leave the room by the 
other door. 

It was a little thing, but it is nearly always in little 
things that we get indications of the things that matter. 
Garston finished his dressing rapidly, with a deeply 
troubled mind. 

He did not, for all his experience and knowledge, 
understand the position, chiefly because he did not 
understand his wife. 

He went down-stairs quickly, and, opening the door, 


CHERRY ISLE 


142 

found Anthea standing by the fire, awaiting his com- 
ing, exactly as she had always done. 

“ Good-morning, Herrick,” she said, turning to- 
wards him, but making no step forward. 

One second’s hesitation on Garston’s part, and then 
he came up to her, and kissed her tenderly. 

“ Good-morning, dearest,” he said, gently, feeling 
with inexpressible pain that she released herself from 
his embrace almost before he had touched her. 

She rang the bell, and breakfast was brought in. 

She served him with her usual attentiveness. 

Garston noted that she was rather pale, and that her 
eyelids were persistently lowered ; but her copper-col- 
ored hair was dressed as perfectly as usual, and her 
whole personality was the same, excepting a certain 
added touch of coldness. He felt miserable. 

They had hitherto always played each other’s ac- 
companiments when they were going over their songs 
privately, although of course each had a paid player 
for continual practice. This morning Garston had 
particularly wanted Anthea’s assistance, and as he was 
evolving the matter in his mind she spoke in her usual 
tones. 

“ I’m afraid I can’t play for you this morning, Her- 
rick; my secretary comes at half-past ten, and I shall 
be very busy cancelling engagements.” 

“ Sorry, dear, because no one plays like you, and I 
wanted you to help me arrange my continental tour.” 

“ I’m afraid I’m too busy. Oh, and I have decided 
on my own arrangements, Herrick; I may as well tell 
you what they are.” 


CHERRY ISLE 


143 

He shot a quick look at her, but said nothing, wait- 
ing for her to go on. 

“ I shall stay here until June, I think, and then go 
away quietly into the country somewhere.” 

“ Why not go to Cherry Blossom Farm? ” he asked 
eagerly; “ it is perfectly quiet there, if you want quiet, 
and I know Jim and his wife would be delighted to 
have you. Besides, I could be always running down.” 

Anthea lifted her eyebrows, and looked at him. 

“ No,” she said, coldly, and her voice cut him like 
a whip. “ I do not particularly care for the farm. 
The child also would be noisy, and there are other 
objections that perhaps you would not understand.” 

“ As you like, Anthea,” he answered, lighting a 
cigarette ; “ what you mean, I suppose, is that for the 
next year we are to go our own ways.” 

“ The next year,” she answered, rather softly. 

“ But don’t you want me, dear ? ” he asked rather 
wistfully; “ can’t I help you? Won’t you let me be 
with you as much as possible ? ” 

But Anthea was beyond appeal, or at least beyond 
any appeal that Garston could make, and she said 
coldly; 

“ You are generally quicker to see my meaning, 
Herrick; it is so stupid to have to explain. It will 
be better for me to see as little as possible of you for 
the next summer and autumn.” 

“ Anthea!” 

“ Better for me and better for you,” she said coldly. 

He stood up, his hand holding the back of the chair 
so tightly that the knuckles went white. 


i 4 4 


CHERRY ISLE 


“ What do you mean, Anthea?” he demanded; 
“ what on earth have I done ? ” 

“ Gh, nothing — nothing, except that you sang when 
I failed, that you will sing while I am dumb, and that 
I have lost all I cared for, while you are delighted. ,, 
Garston paled, but he spoke with great restraint. 
“Anthea, you know you are not spealling the truth: 
you know you are blaming me unfairly. I cannot help 
being a man, you know ; but do exactly as you please, 
and I will help you in any way that I can.” 

“ Thank you, Herrick.” Once more Anthea was 
her cold self. “ Then perhaps you will interview one 
or two people for me.” 

“ Of course, dear. By Jove, I must be off! ” 

He hesitated a moment, but Anthea turned away, 
and bent over some letters. Her husband went out, 
and she was left alone. 


CHAPTER XVI 


In this world, the Isle of Dreams , 

While we sit by sorrow's streams, 

T ears and terrors are our themes. 

—Herrick. 

Anthea Garston loved music for its own delights, 
and all through the summer and autumn she indulged 
her desire. 

She would sit listening with no change of the 
habitually cold expression on her lips, but never once 
through all these months did she go to hear her hus- 
band sing, and Garston’s heart was heavy. 

Had he lost the very little that he had ever had? 
She avoided him whenever she decently could, and 
there was about her a freezing atmosphere that warned 
him away. 

But he looked forward to the coming of the child. 

Surely when Anthea held her baby in her arms, her 
heart would melt! 

In these months of waiting, almost as weary to the 
man as to the woman, Garston’s voice steadily im- 
proved, and he won triumph after triumph. 

Those very few who saw Anthea during this time, 
congratulated her upon the divine excellence of her 
husband’s singing and condoled with her on her own 
enforced rest. 


i45 


CHERRY ISLE 


146 

Then a day came in late November when Garston 
cancelled an important engagement and spent the hours 
in mental agony. London lay buried in a heavy fog, 
and Garston walked about his room and looked out of 
the window from time to time. 

The very air of the room, well warmed as it was, 
was dimmed with the heavy atmosphere from outside, 
and the fire burned dully. 

Would the silence never be broken by the crying for 
which he waited ? 

At last a decided tap at the door, and Dr. Alice 
Hooker came in. 

She was of medium height, rather stout and very 
capable looking; she dressed a thought too elaborately 
perhaps, and she wore rather high heels to her thin 
shoes. As she came across the room, she arranged 
various rings on her fingers. 

“ Congratulations, Mr. Garston,” she said, briskly; 
“ your wife is doing capitally, and you have a 
daughter.” 

Garston drew a long breath, and a sunny, boyish 
smile lit up his face and eyes. 

“ I am glad ! Thank you so much for letting me 
know at once. I've been waiting for the child’s cry 
all the time, and the lack of it was becoming unbear- 
able.” 

“ Oh, she didn’t cry much,” said Dr. Hooker, giving 
him a quick glance ; “ she’s a splendid little mortal, 
though, in every way.” 

“ May I see Anthea ? ” Garston asked. 

“ I had rather you didn’t to-night,” said the doctor, 


CHERRY ISLE 


147 

casually ; “ Mrs. Garston is asleep now, and it’s very 
late. It struck one a few minutes ago.” 

“As you think best, of course,” Garston answered 
gravely. “ Perhaps you will tell the nurse to call me 
if my wife wishes later on.” 

“Yes, I’ll do that,” agreed the doctor; “ good- 
night.” 

“ Good-night, and thank you once more.” 

Garston opened the door for her. 

“ Don’t come any further, please,” commanded the 
doctor; “ I am just going to run up-stairs again, and 
I’ll let myself out; it will make less noise.” 

“ Very well. Good-night.” 

He stood one moment watching her as she mounted 
the stairs, and then went back into the room. 

A quarter of an hour later Dr. Alice Hooker came 
down-stairs again, and, after knocking very lightly, 
opened the door soundlessly. 

Charles Garston, famous singer, happy father of a 
healthy first born, was sitting by the table, his face 
buried in his hands ; she heard a quiet catching of his 
breath, and upon the polished surface of the table were 
several drops that reflected the electric light. Dr. 
Hooker shut the door silently, and went away ; she had 
only been going to tell him that the nurse would call 
him if Anthea asked for him. 

Her motor was waiting outside, and she was in a 
very thoughtful mood as she was driven home. 

She had stooped over Anthea and had whispered : 

“ I am going to send your husband up, but he must 
only stay a few moments.” 


148 CHERRY ISLE 

And Anthea had opened her eyes fully, and had 
made answer: 

“ Please do not let my husband come to see me to- 
night.” 

“ Too tired — very well,” she had answered cheer- 
fully. “And now I’ll show you the child ; it is a girl, 
you know.” 

Anthea had closed her eyes, had barely looked at the 
child, and had made no attempt to touch it. 

So the doctor was thoughtful. Of course, Mrs. 
Garston’s behavior might be due to physical reaction; 
but the doctor did not like it. It would be such a pity 
if things were not smooth between the two ; the famous 
tenor was so courtly and good-looking, and evidently 
very much in love with his wife. 

Three days passed, and Anthea still refused to see 
her husband; moreover she had refused to feed her 
infant, and, of course, there could be no gainsaying 
her. 

The nurse, a capable, commanding woman, attended 
Anthea with stately severity and with signs of disap- 
proval. Dr. Alice Hooker said Anthea must be hu- 
mored and obeyed for the present, and since the baby 
was doing well on warm milk it was all right, though, 
of course, a pity. But the nurse knew better. It was 
temper — that was what was wrong with Mrs. Garston. 
The nurse had no patience with her, and for two pins 
she would tell her so. 

Anthea lay silently brooding, and her soul was in 
darkness. 

On the fourth morning, as it was warm and sunny, 


CHERRY ISLE 


149 


the baby was taken for a walk by the disapproving 
nurse; since Anthea was not feeding her child, of 
course, the infant was very little with her. She lay 
quietly thinking, she was making up her mind. She 
must, of course, see her husband: appearances must be 
kept up. She did not want to see him, but there was 
no conceivable reason why she should not. 

She touched the bell. 

A nurse stood by her almost instantaneously. 

“ Is Nurse Malcolm in? ” asked Anthea. 

“ She has just come in, madam,” was the answer of 
the second nurse. 

“ Would you kindly see if Mr. Garston is disen- 
gaged, and, if so, ask him if he will come and see me?” 

Anthea’s voice was formal, and her eyes were nearly 
closed. 

“ Certainly, madam.” 

The nurse went on her errand. She found Nurse 
Malcolm in the dining-room with Garston and the 
baby. 

Garston was holding his little daughter in his arms, 
and wondering at the thrill the mere sensation gave 
him. Fatherly love had sprung into being the first 
time he had seen his child, and he was already wise in 
the ways of holding it. 

“ She is a very fine child really, nurse,” he said 
solemnly and with entire belief in the statement. 

“Yes, sir,” answered the nurse sedately; “she is 
absolutely sound in every way.” 

“ Yes, and she doesn’t cry much.” 

He looked down on the child with an expression 


CHERRY ISLE 


150 

which would have amused many of the ignorant and 
worldly friends of the famous tenor. 

“ No,” said the nurse, “ she doesn't, and it’s a good 
thing, for her voice is the least pretty part of her. 
But I think she likes music already; a barrel organ was 
playing as I came in; she was about to cry, but when 
she heard it she stopped.” 

Garston laughed. 

“Good Lord, nurse; you alarm me. If she likes 
that awful noise that was going on outside, it doesn't 
say much for her musical ear, but I don't care much 
about that,” he said half to himself, stooping over his 
child and kissing it. 

“ Mrs. Garston is asking for you, sir, if you are dis- 
engaged,” said the second nurse. Both the nurses saw 
a tenseness come into the man’s face and figure as he 
answered quickly: 

“All right ; I will go up at once. Take baby, nurse.” 

Very slowly Charles went up the stairs. His wife's 
refusal to see him had hurt him deeply, but he had con- 
soled himself with the words, “ illness, nerves, shock,” 
and perhaps she did not wish him to see her until she 
felt normal again. For although Anthea did not ap- 
pear vain, still she was always very particular in all 
details of appearance, and always wore the garment 
which suited herself, not that which suited other 
women, as do most ladies of fashion. 

But he knew, alas! that she had not wanted him, 
that in pain and weariness she had not turned to him, 
that he was not her consoler: not the lover whose 
very touch takes bitterness from agony. This knowl- 


CHERRY ISLE 


151 

edge was a heavy burden, and caused him to tread 
softly both mentally and physically. 

He opened the door and came round the screen. 

Anthea was lying watching, as it seemed, with half- 
closed eyes. 

Her hair lay loosely round her on the snow-white 
pillow; her lips were closed rather stiffly, but a very 
faint tinge of color came into her cheeks as Garston 
came across the floor, and the stiff lips smiled conven- 
tionally. 

“ Good-morning, Herrick,” she said quietly. 

Garston leaned over her and kissed her on the mouth 
with sad tenderness. 

She did not return his kiss, and her husband felt that 
she barely restrained a shudder. 

“ How are you feeling, Anthea?” he asked, still 
keeping hold of her hand, although he could feel re- 
luctance in it. 

“ Fairly well, thank you.” She moved restlessly. 

“ I will not stay with you long to-day,” he said, wist- 
fully; “you are tired, I see; but, Anthea, you don't 
know how I have wanted to see you the last four days.” 

Anthea opened her eyes for one quick second, and 
then lowered the lids again, saying with cold weari- 
ness: 

“ I was not feeling myself, and nurse tells me you 
have seen the baby? ” 

“Yes.” His voice shook for a moment. “Yes, 
but she is not you. Oh, my cold, strange wife, what 
shall we call her — this child of ours, love of our love 
and flesh of our flesh ? ” 


CHERRY ISLE 


152 

Anthea made an effort to be interested. 

“ What do you think, Herrick, what would you 
like?” 

Charles held her thin long hand in one of his and 
stroked it gently, and a dreadful impulse came upon 
Anthea to shriek and draw her hand away, but with 
an effort she controlled it, and only the muscles of her 
face twitched a little. 

Her husband spoke reverently, and with deep tender- 
ness, although he used no terms of endearment. An- 
thea was Anthea, and loving terms seemed out of 
place. 

“Anthea, I first saw you in the Land of Cherry Isle, 
and since the cherry trees have given us this blossom 
let us call our daughter Julia.” 

“If you like, Herrick,” came the answer with gentle 
indifference. 

Her husband went on quietly, feeling impelled to 
speak: 

“And, Anthea, if your voice has gone for ever (I 
do not believe it has, but I know you are always think- 
ing of it), perhaps our child will sing, perhaps Her- 
rick’s dainty verse will be true of her: 

So smooth , so szveet, so silz/ry is thy voice 

As could they hear the damned would make no noise 

But listen to thee, walking in thy chamber 

Melting melodious words to lutes of amber. 

And so, Anthea, even if your voice is gone, it will make 
little difference, for it will sound again in your child.” 


CHERRY ISLE 


153 

With a ste'ady movement she drew her hand out of 
her husband's. 

“ I am afraid you must go now,” she said very 
quietly, and the words came slowly ; “ I am tired.” 

“ Very well, Anthea. I miss my attentive wife, as 
well as my Anthea.” 

He did not kiss her, for he saw that something was 
hopelessly wrong between them, but stood a moment 
looking down with a rather pathetic wistfulness, and 
then he went away. 

At the door he met Nurse Malcolm bringing the 
baby to pay a duty call upon its mother. 

He took his little daughter lovingly, and kissed her, 
and then turned towards his wife. 

Anthea’s eyes were open, and she was watching the 
little group, but in her strange eyes there was no love 
or pride, no wifely satisfaction, no motherly delight; 
only a cold repugnance, a wild bitterness. 

He left the room, dull terror again weighing down 
his heart. 


CHAPTER XVII 

Here , a little child, I stand. 

—Herrick. 

The baby Julia sat on a rug before the nursery fire; 
nurse was in the next room, and the door was open, so 
Baby Julia was not far from a watchful eye. 

And, besides, there was a nasty tall guard before 
the fire, all crisscrossed with wire, and if her littlest 
finger went through it stuck and hurt. When it hurt 
Baby Julia knew it would never come out again, and 
she would have to spend the rest of her days attached 
to a nursery guard. 

So she didn't put her fingers into the little holes, 
though they did fit so beautifully, but contented her- 
self with drawing dolly's head across the bars; it 
made such a pretty noise, a low soft note, and she 
loved pretty noises. She loved that lovely big thing 
with legs down-stairs that cried so beautifully when 
you hit it. 

Baby Julia loved all sorts of things: she loved 
nursie, the woman slave who waited on her, but she 
was a little afraid of the tall grave woman who nursie 
said was mother. She Joved supremely the man who 
nursed her and kissed her, who nurse said was daddy, 
and out of whose mouth came such pretty noises. 

Baby Julia couldn't talk yet; she was only just two 
years old. Nursie called her backward, but, of course, 
*54 


CHERRY ISLE 


155 

she understood all the things that people said. She did 
so want daddy to come up now, perhaps he wouldn’t — 
and her lips went down, but she didn’t cry. Baby 
Julia couldn’t think why such ugly noises came from 
her mouth when she cried, it was dreadful ; it hurt her 
head it was so ugly, and so she hardly ever cried. 

She had nice teeth, too, dainty little pearly teeth, 
and such a red tongue ; she had looked at it that morn- 
ing, and it had moved. 

She sat before the fireplace on the fluffy white rug, 
making musical noises on the guard; she was very 
cunning at this game, and was able to get music from 
all sorts of queer things. Her hair was curly, nursie 
said it was a mop; but daddy had kissed it, and said 
it was her mother’s hair. Her mouth was red like her 
tongue, her cheeks rosy, and her eyes very blue be- 
neath their long curling lashes; her eyebrows — those 
funny smudges of black which wouldn’t wash off — 
very finely marked, and her nose an altogether kissable 
one. 

In fact she was very lovely, lovely and dimpled, and 
red and white, and dear, and sweet, and warm, and 
she had lots of names. 

Mother, who nearly always shut her eyes, called her 
Julia, and nothing else. Baby wished she wouldn’t 
shut her eyes. Once when daddy’s voice had sounded, 
singing to himself, and mother had been with her, she 
had opened her eyes wide, and they had looked dif- 
ferent and funny, and she loved funny things. 

Nursie called her Miss Jue, or Baby Girl, and when 
she put her arms round daddy’s neck and loved him 


CHERRY ISLE 


156 

tight he called her “ My little poem." Once when he 
looked as if he were going to cry, he had called her 
“ My Cherry Blossom." 

Daddy was the delight of her soul ; he always under- 
stood, and he would say to her : 

“ Sing to daddy, Little Poem." 

But Baby Julia always shook her head, and daddy 
looked sad and worried again. 

Once mother had said something about doctors when 
she had been crying, but all the color had gone from 
daddy's face, and he had looked like her dolly when 
she had scrubbed the pink off, and he had said : 

“For God’s sake, no; wait. If I had two dead 
voices on my soul, I should go mad." 

Mother had said nothing. 

This was baby’s view and review of her life, and on 
the whole she was a happy little mortal, for she was 
dearly loved by her nurse, and every bodily want of 
the child was satisfied. 

Anthea had, in all particulars of this kind, been a 
model mother; the baby’s life was conducted on strictly 
modern hygienic principles. 

Mother was now coming slowly up-stairs — very 
slowly and with a step older than her years. 

Anthea had made unto herself a graven image, and 
when it had been cast down from its high place, her 
altar had been left bare, and she had turned away, 
and had knelt no more. And since it is better to wor- 
ship false gods than none at all, Anthea had found her 
life a weariness. 

She could no longer be happy ; she was only capable 


CHERRY ISLE 


157 

of being hurt, and her husband seemed to her to be a 
scourge in the hand of her sad destiny. 

All he said seemed to her to be charged with double 
meaning, and the child which should have bound them 
seemed doomed to hold them apart. 

And yet she had health and wealth and her own 
weird beauty, a home, a husband and a child, and a 
position in the past as a singer. 

She paused a moment at the nursery door — paused 
to listen: was Herrick within singing to the child? 
Ah! he could sing to Julia, while she herself was for- 
ever dumb. The handle turned with a quick click in 
Anthea’ s long white fingers. 

The baby turned round instantly — she was extraor- 
dinarily sensitive to sounds and painfully easily 
startled — and scrambled to her feet, holding on to the 
guard with one sweet dimpled hand. But there was 
no tottering rush across the floor, no chuckling laugh- 
ter, or shrill delight; the baby’s eyelids fell in uncon- 
scious imitation of her mother, and she stood quite 
still. 

Anthea came across the floor and stood looking 
down at her baby, and then she stooped and gravely 
kissed the little brow which the child lifted to her as 
if in custom. Alas for Anthea that the rosebud lips 
were not offered. 

“ Well, Julia,” and at the sound of the mother’s un- 
musical voice, the nurse appeared at the door. 

“ Good-morning, nurse,” said Anthea, straightening 
herself and glancing towards the pleasant-looking 
woman, who answered quickly: 


CHERRY ISLE 


158 

“ Good-morning, ma'am.” 

“Has Miss Julia been quite well?” went on 
Anthea. 

“ Yes, thank you, ma’am,” answered the nurse. 

“ I am going to stay with her for an hour or so, 
so you can do what you like,” said Anthea. 

“ Thank you, ma’am. I have one or two little 
things to do in the next room, and down-stairs. Miss 
Jue should have some warmer vests, and I was just 
looking through her clothes.” 

“Very well; I will call you when I want to go 
away.” 

Nurse went back into the inner room, and pulled a 
drawer open with a jerk. 

“ I can’t stand Mrs. Garston,” she muttered to her- 
self ; “ she’s a walkin’ corpse, and yet she’s got the 
kindest husband and the dearest love of a baby. Her 
voice always goes down my spine like a trickle of cold 
water, or a door key when your nose is bleeding; she 
does everything as if she were paid for it.” 

Anthea did not move from her position by the fire- 
place, but just stood there looking down at the baby, 
who with great gravity stood still. Anthea crossed 
the room to the window, and sat down in an arm- 
chair. The baby glanced at her for a moment, and 
then turned to the guard, and, squatting down on the 
rug, began once more to make the pretty noises with 
dolly’s head against the brass. 

The mother did not want the child, nor did the child 
want the mother, and they sat in the beautiful nursery 
regardless of each other. Anthea watched her baby, 


CHERRY ISLE 


159 

absently listening to the musical notes she obtained 
from her crude instrument, but her thoughts were far 
away, and the baby had forgotten her. 

Then Baby Julia stopped and half turned her head. 
She was listening. 

Anthea, too, caught the sound. 

It was the sound of her husband’s step. 

She looked towards the door for a moment, and 
then back to the child. 

Baby Julia had scrambled to her feet, her face was 
scarlet with delight, her blue eyes were sparkling, and 
she began to dance a queer little jig. Her whole be- 
ing was alive and alight with vividest joy; but she 
danced on the rug, she did not run to the door. She 
was evidently waiting for something ; there was a pro- 
gram to be carried out; and baby had her part to 
play. 

As Anthea watched the change in the child, saw joy 
and life spring into being in the little face, a strange 
new sensation was born deep within her. She did not 
know, she did not recognize it, but it was the first birth 
pang of a mother’s soul, the first pang of a long and 
weary travail. 

Anthea’s eyes were widely open, and this would have 
pleased the baby — but Julia was watching the door. 
Then outside the door the steps paused, and Charles 
Garston began to sing very softly: 

Pray, Mrs. Mouse, are you within ? 

Then Garston opened the door, and dropped on his 
knees. A wild tottering scramble: the baby was still 


i6o 


CHERRY ISLE 


too young to run steadily and fast: and Julia was 
across the room, her short arms clinging round his 
neck, her whole being intoxicated with greatest joy. 
Garston rose to his feet, holding the child to him, and 
came into the room and shut the door — and then he 
saw his wife. 

He held the child to him for a moment; then, put- 
ting her down, he came across the room to Anthea. 

“ Good-morning, Anthea.” 

He leaned forward as if to kiss her. 

But Anthea moved her chair slightly, and he 
straightened himself instantly. 

“ Good-morning, Herrick,” she answered, and then 
added with just a suspicion of sarcasm in the thin 
voice: 

“ Julia seems to know the performance which I have 
just witnessed? ” 

Garston stepped back to the fireplace, and stood 
looking down at his boots in moody silence. His wife 
gazed at him with cold criticism. All the happiness 
had gone from him; he was thinner, there were lines 
of pain upon his face, and the face was sad when in 
repose and rather bitter. 

His hair was turning white at the temples, and he 
looked much older than his thirty and odd years. 

He did not answer her question, and the baby stood 
between them, glancing first at one and then at the 
other of her parents. 

Then Anthea spoke again with elaborate polite- 
ness. 

“ Please do not let me stop you from your game 


CHERRY ISLE 161 

with Julia; I know how she looks forward to seeing 
you.” 

The contrast between the manner of Julia's recep- 
tion of her parents had cut with keenness into Anthea's 
heart. 

Garston heard the thin voice, the voice once so 
glorious, and his own pain was dulled. 

“Anthea, you quite misunderstood me the other day; 
I was intending no reproach to you.” 

“ Indeed, Herrick, I believe you,” she said, with 
gentle bitterness; “it was foolish of me to be hurt 
and to go away, but please say no more.” 

“ Very well.” 

There was a world of patience in the singer's supple 
voice. 

His wife gave him one quick glance, but he did not 
see it ; he was looking at his child. 

Herrick never saw why he had hurt her, and when 
she was hurt, she always hurt back again now. 

Through him she had gained her fame, and through 
him she had lost it again. It was a pity that she never 
spoke her own thoughts, for Charles, so quick to feel, 
would have understood very thoroughly had she given 
him the key. 

The baby now began to pull impatiently at one of 
his hands, and Garston once more gathered the child 
to him; but this was not what baby wanted, and she 
pulled his mouth open with her dimpled fingers. 

“ Presently, Little Poem, presently,” he murmured, 
holding her rounded cheek to his. 

Anthea watched in silence, and then said quietly : 


162 


CHERRY ISLE 


“ My dear Herrick, you might oblige the child; if I 
am in your way, I will go.” 

He gave her one look difficult to interpret, but an- 
swered casually: 

“ Baby must learn patience.” 

“ You mean you do not wish to sing before me.” 

She rose calmly. 

“ It is a pity to disappoint the child if she cares for 
your singing. I shall be in to lunch, Herrick.” 

With her slow measured step she left the room. 

Once outside and the door closed, she leaned against 
the wall and waited. 

She could hear her husband's voice saying lovingly: 

“ Wait a minute. Little Poem, and you shall hear 
daddy.” 

Anthea knew he was giving her time to be out of 
reach of the sound of his singing. 

She had not heard her husband sing for more than 
two years, and a sudden desire, overwhelming in its 
intensity, sprang up within her for the music of his 
voice. 

She waited, leaning her head against the wall, her 
eyes wide open and gazing blankly into space. 

As she waited she thought. 

She had never really loved her husband, not loved 
him as she had loved her own voice and her all-absorb- 
ing ambition; but as she waited for his voice to break 
the silence, a sudden knowledge of his patient good- 
ness to her revealed itself in her mind. 

He, the world-famed man, because of his love for 
her and his pity, had yielded to her in every detail, and 


CHERRY ISLE 


163 

she contrasted the memory of the debonair young man 
kneeling by her in the cherry orchard years ago with 
the saddened father kneeling by his child. 

For almost the first time in her life emotion of a 
human kind seemed to be running within her, and the 
cold frozen heart of the woman felt a thrill of tender- 
ness quiver through her being. 

Then, soft and low and sweet, her husband’s voice 
floated to her. 

As he sang, her artist’s soul read the meaning of his 
song, heard the burden of his despair, for the song he 
sang to his child was the song which had first bound 
them together: 

Cherry ripe , ripe, ripe I cry, 

Full and fair ones, come and buy — 

If so be you ask me where 
They do grow? I answer, There 
Where my Jidia’s lips do smile, 

There's the land or Cherry Isle, 

Whose plantations fully show 
All the year where cherries grow. 

Silence in the nursery, no sweet laughter, the laugh- 
ter of delight that bursts spontaneously from children’s 
lips, but a queer harsh, inarticulate sound, and then 
Herrick’s voice in passionate compassion. 

“ Don’t try, my Little Blossom; my white Cherry 
Blossom, never mind. Daddy will kiss the ears and 
make them better. Little lamb can’t help the ugly 
noise; daddy will sing for her.” He kissed his child 
and held her to him ; then his voice sounded again, and 
it was wrung with pain. He was speaking to himself: 


164 


CHERRY ISLE 


“ God have mercy upon me ! Has your mother's 
curse come down upon you, my little innocent child ? ” 

A quick catch sounded in his breath, and a quiver 
broke the words. 

Anthea, listening outside, turned deadly white, and 
all the tenderness died away within her before it had 
come to birth. 

It was for the child that Herrick cared. She had 
lost her voice that the child might be, and the curse 
was upon the child. Should she enter the nursery ? 

She hesitated a moment, and then her husband’s 
voice sounded again, singing a crooning Irish melody. 

No, she had no part in them — and Anthea went 
up-stairs. 

When she came down to lunch her expression was 
colder even than usual, and her voice more dead. 

Garston did not speak, and ate but little. At the 
end of the meal, just as Anthea was rising, he suddenly 
signed to her to remain. 

“ One moment, Anthea, please. I wish to tell you 
something." 

Anthea stood, half-turned away, one hand on her 
chair, waiting with cold politeness for him to speak. 

“ Since it is about our child, it may not interest 
you,” he went on, with suppressed bitterness. “ I in- 
tend to call in Dr. Dumfry to examine her throat.” 

“ Your tone is hardly justifiable, Herrick,” said 
Anthea, turning her face towards him, her whole 
manner repellent ; “ for, if you remember, it was I who 
suggested this course of action.” 

“Yes, you did; you have looked after the child's 


CHERRY ISLE 165 

physical well-being since her birth, oh ! I do not deny 
that/’ he answered, shrugging his shoulders. 

“ Do you wish to make the arrangements, or shall 
I ? ” Anthea spoke indifferently now. 

“ Oh ! I won’t trouble you ; I will see to them,” and 
Garston pushed his chair back from the table. 

“ Very well then, I leave it in your hands, and since 
Julia is always amenable with you, and not always 
with me, I will leave you and nurse to take her. Come, 
Herrick, you cannot say that I am not doing what you 
want.” 

“Anthea ! ” Garston sprang to his feet, and the 
chair fell with a crash. “You will drive me mad: 
you are a frozen icicle; do you care for nothing but 
yourself? Have you never a woman’s feeling for 
others ? ” 

“ You are violent, Herrick” — a strange dead scorn 
sounded in Anthea’s voice — “you appear to have 
enough feeling for both of us. I shall be genuinely 
shocked if anything should prove to be radically and 
incurably wrong with Julia’s voice, but, surely,” and 
her tone grew hideously mocking and bitter, “but 
surely it would not greatly matter if her voice was 
ugly. She will only be a woman, after all.” 

Garston strode up to his wife, his eyes blazing with 
wrath. 

“How dare you, Anthea?” he said sternly; “how 
dare you speak like that ? Are you a woman, and my 
wife? ” 

She stepped back and looked him fully in the face, 
her strange eyes gleaming with passion. 

“ To my own undoing, I am both, Herrick,” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


How rich and pleasing thou, my Julia, art 
In each thy dainty and peculiar part! 

—Herrick. 

The reporter turned pale with disappointment. 

“ There/’ he exclaimed to a friend, “ Garston* s gone 
and got into the car with his baby and nurse, and I’ve 
missed him.” 

“ Well, stay where you are, and catch him as he 
comes back ; a famous picture it will make.” 

“ Hope he won’t be long,” said the first reporter, 
wearily ; “ lucky dog to have a car like that, and a 
pretty kiddie, and all made out of his voice.” 

Garston was not long. 

“ Nurse,” he said, taking his child from the arms of 
the somewhat frightened-looking woman, “ I will go 
in with Miss Julia, and perhaps take her straight home 
in the car afterwards. You can come back in a taxi.” 

“Very well, sir. Oh! I do hope she will be all 
right,” and tears sprang to the woman’s eyes. 

Garston saw them, and his voice was very kindly as 
he answered: 

“ I am afraid we must not hope too much, nurse. 
Mrs. Garston has wished Miss Julia to see the specialist 
for some time. She will be good with me, I think.” 

166 


CHERRY ISLE 167 

“ I am sure she will, sir, and you know she hates 
crying,” said the nurse soberly. 

Garston held his child closely to him, whispering 
sweet nonsense into the dainty ear, and Baby Julia was 
quite happy. Was she not with daddy ? Her solemn 
baby eyes gazed searchingly everywhere, always com- 
ing back to the weary face of her father. 

A short wait only, and then the footman entered. 

“ This way, please, sir; Dr. Dumfry is quite ready.” 

“ How do you do, Mr. Garston? I am sorry to see 
you here on such an errand. Mrs. Garston quite 
well?” 

Dr. Dumfry shook hands with the singer only, tak- 
ing no notice of the child. 

“ Yes, thank you,” answered Garston gravely; “ but 
we thought it better for my wife not to come.” 

“ Undoubtedly, undoubtedly,” answered the special- 
ist, arranging lights as he spoke ; “ and now how will 
the little one prefer to sit? ” 

“ On my lap,” answered Garston. “ I wrote to you 
about all the symptoms, the dislike of hearing herself 
cry, and the strange uncouth noises she seems only 
able to make. But I think I forgot to tell you that she 
has a wonderful love of music.” 

“Ah, yes! Of course, it would be too painful for 
Mrs. Garston to come. Now, Mr. Garston, will you 
please tell the child to open her mouth and look this 
way ? ” 

“ Now, Little Poem,” said the singer gravely, “ open 
your mouth wide; the doctor is going to look right 
down into you.” 


1 68 


CHERRY ISLE 


Baby Julia shook her head; she had not long finished 
a lovely sweet ; perhaps the nasty man would want to 
have it when he saw it. So she closed her lips firmly. 

“ I shall have to make her cry, I’m afraid,” said the 
doctor. 

“ No, no,” said Garston, quickly. “ There’s a better 
way. Now, Little Poem, daddy will sing to you if 
you will do exactly as the man says.” 

Baby Julia nodded her head with dizzy rapidity, and 
pulled at Garston’s lips, opening her own little rosebud 
mouth widely. 

Dr. Dumfry gave one quick glance at the famous 
singer, and then, taking no further notice of him, be- 
gan his examination. 

The baby seemed to forget him and her fears, and 
she listened entranced to her father’s voice. 

He sang George Macdonald’s perfect song to a set- 
ting of his own which was a particular favorite of the 
baby’s: 

Where did you come from, baby dear ? 

Out of the everywhere into here. 

Where did you get those eyes of blue? 

Out of the sky as I came through. 

“A little to the side, please, Mr. Garston. Ah! 
that’s fine ; I shall not be long now.” 

A sudden tremble in Garston’s voice: 

Where did you get that tiny tear ? 

I found it waiting when I came here. 

Where did you get those tiny hands? 

Love made itself into bonds and bands . 


CHERRY ISLE 169 

“ Two more minutes. No, I shall not hurt her; but 
I must have this mirror right. She is very good.” 

Big tears stood in Baby Julia’s blue eyes, big tears 
all ready to fall; but if she cried daddy would stop 
singing, and she might make an ugly noise. So her 
hot baby hands clung tightly to her father’s as his 
voice rang out again: 

And how did it all just come to he you? 

God thought about me, and so I grew. 

And why did you come to us, you dear? 

God thought about you, and so I am here. 

“ Thank you, that will do nicely.” 

Garston ceased singing, and Baby Julia’s lips went 
down. The nasty man had hurt her, and put all sorts 
of things down her throat, and now daddy had left off. 
Before she could stop herself, she began to cry, in 
harsh uncouth noises. She ceased almost as soon as 
she had begun, however, and just sat on her father’s 
lap, trembling all over, the big tears falling down her 
grief-stricken face. 

“There, there, Little Poem; it’s all over. You’ve 
been such a brave girl. Well, doctor? ” 

Garston, fondling his child and wiping her eyes with 
his immaculate handkerchief, looked up drearily at the 
specialist. Dr. Dumfry was polishing his spectacles, 
and he did not answer at first. 

Garston rose to his feet, and put his baby down in 
the chair, saying: 

“ Little Poem, sit still while I speak to the man,” 


CHERRY ISLE 


170 

He walked to the further side of the room, and the 
doctor followed him. 

“ Now, Dr. Dumfry, tell me, please.” 

“ The vocal chords are merely rudimentary.” 

“And she will never speak?” The question came 
slowly. 

“ I fear not ; it is practically impossible for them to 
grow now. I am surprised she can make as much 
noise as she does.” 

Garston shuddered. 

“And the cause ? ” he demanded. 

Dr. Dumfry’s manner became strictly professional 
and non-committal. 

“ Quite impossible to say, my dear sir. There is 
serious hereditary weakness in Mrs. Garston’s voice. 
That is all I can say.” 

“ Thank you. That is all, then? ” 

“ Oh, we will have another look presently ; but in 
the meantime give the child every means of growth — 
fresh air, plenty of nourishing food, and so on. Her 
remarkable love of music must be carefully watched, 
and not over-indulged. But I shall be passing your 
house later. After you have seen Mrs. Garston, I will 
come and speak to her. I always like to give my ad- 
vice straight to the mother.” 

“ Thank you, it’s very good of you. Mrs. Garston 
understands all technicalities of expression as regards 
the voice, and will be able to comprehend everything 
better than I.” 

“ Shall I send for the nurse? ” asked Dr. Dumfry, 
his hand on the bell. 


CHERRY ISLE 171 

“ No, I will take my child home. I would rather 
be alone.” He held out his hand. 

“ Thank you,” he said simply. And the famous 
singer, carrying his child, went out of the consulting 
room into the hall. 

“ Home,” he said. 

The indefatigable reporter was able to catch him as 
he got out of the car, and the next day a picture of 
Garston carrying his child appeared in the Looking 
Glass and delighted the souls of the great British pub- 
lic. It was labeled : 


A Famous Singer and Happy Father 
Mr. Garston and Miss Julia Garston 


CHAPTER XIX 


So smooth , so sweet , so silv’ry is the voice 

As, could they hear , the damned would make no noise. 

— Herrick. 

Anthea had gone to her room, very deeply annoyed 
with herself. She had provoked a scene, and she 
hated scenes; she had been roused from her coldness 
to a more than usually bitter retort, and the passion 
coming after the momentary softening of the morning 
had left a savage pain within her. 

And then she was overwhelmingly anxious about 
the child’s voice. 

For many months now she had been practically cer- 
tain that there was something radically wrong with 
Julia, but she had half shrunk from certainty. 

She had not only lost her own voice, but the loss had 
been doubled in that she had bequeathed dumbness to 
her child. 

Pride of woman, although she did not recognize it, 
was wounded surely within — and there was something 
else, although the days were to be many before she 
would own it even to herself. 

To what extent was she responsible? Her revolt 
against the coming of the child, as far as it had meant 
the loss of her voice, was still seething within her ; she 
172 


CHERRY ISLE 


173 


remembered the weeks of passion, of despair, of 
nausea, of rebellion, all the more terrible because 
hidden away from the outer world. And the child 
would never speak ; of this she felt practically certain. 

She was sitting in her own room, her eyes wide open 
gazing unseeingly at the leaping fire. 

Outside the day was a clear still autumn one. 

She was “ not at home,” and feared no interruption, 
but she was waiting for the sound of her husband’s 
tread outside and his punctilious knock at the door. 

Four o’clock chimed from the outside world, and 
Anthea was seized with restlessness. 

She began to pace the room, moving with a quick- 
ness wholly foreign to her usual walk; a great un- 
easiness, physical, mental and moral was upon her. 

In her pacings she passed her piano, and, impelled 
by a sudden impulse, sat down to play. 

She played snatches of strange music, wild inarticu- 
late pleadings from Grieg, weird Hungarian melodies 
and Polish harmonies, passing from one to the other 
in skilful modulations, the whole sounding a phantasy 
of music. Then, some strange external unseen in- 
fluence guiding her fingers, the music became the 
crooning Irish ballad that Herrick had sung instead 
of her, on that night of horror — the night of her great 
failure. 

Low and intense the unearthly crooning notes from 
the piano rose and fell, conjured out of mechanism by 
her skilful fingers. 

Her thoughts went back again to that night, to that 
awful moment when she actually felt her voice going. 


*74 


CHERRY ISLE 


And even as she had felt the dying of the wondrous 
voice, so now she felt its re-birth. 

She began to sing. 

Once again it was hers, and the voice that had filled 
the world with delight rose and fell in the empty room. 

The long crooning was perfect, now wailing, now 
filling the air with triumph, now with pain. The 
passion of her voice was deeper than it had ever been. 

The doors of her room were double and heavy with 
curtains, as were Garston’s, so that the two singers 
should be inaudible to one another when they so de- 
sired it, and none of the household heard Anthea’s 
wild triumph. 

Her husband was in his room, doors shut and cur- 
tained; he was sitting in a chair by the fire, leaning 
forward with his face hidden in his hands. Baby 
Julia was being rocked and comforted by a weeping 
nurse in the pretty nursery, and her mother was sing- 
ing, forgetful of everything, in her room. 

The music ceased, and Anthea sat still, stunned by 
the suddenness of her recovery. 

Then she rose and rang the bell, with a quick im- 
perative hand. 

“ The car at once, please,” she commanded. 

In a few minutes she was ready, and leaving word 
that she would return presently, she gave the order: 

“ Dr. Dumfry, Harley Street.” 

It had filtered through the house that something was 
wrong with Miss Julia, and every one supposed that 
Mrs. Garston had gone to Harley Street for further 
information. The footman told a maid, and the maid 


CHERRY ISLE 


175 

told the nurse, and it was the general opinion that it 
was no more than she ought to have done. 

Anthea had no appointment, yet she was at once ad- 
mitted to the consulting room. Dr. Dumfry came 
forward rather hurriedly, saying: “ I was coming 
round myself in a few minutes, Mrs. Garston; I am 
sorry you had this trouble. ,, 

Anthea hardly heard his words, and spoke at once: 

“ Dr. Dumfry, my voice has come back. I wish 
you to examine my throat instantly.” 

“ Certainly ; I congratulate you most sincerely.” 
And the doctor set about his business. 

The minutes passed. 

“ Well? ” said Anthea, and she heard the difference 
in her own voice, for that awful dead thinness had 
gone. 

“ Your throat is absolutely normal,” the specialist 
said, gravely ; “ the weakness appears to have entirely 
vanished.” 

“And you think I may sing again? ” 

Anthea’s strange eyes were wide open, and full of 
life and hope; everything but her regained gift was 
forgotten. 

“ I see no reason whatever why you should not,” 
was the answer ; “ the slight abnormality seems to have 
become absorbed, and the chords are in an entirely 
healthy condition. Have you seen Mr. Garston? ” 

“ No,” returned Anthea, still oblivious of the doc- 
tor’s gravity. 

“Ah, then, I shall be in if you want to ring me up. 
You would doubtless prefer to see your husband first.” 


CHERRY ISLE 


176 

“ Yes, I think so. ,, 

In a few minutes Anthea was being driven home- 
wards. 

“ Extraordinary coincidence, ,, thought Dumfry to 
himself ; “ the mother regains her voice on the very 
day I have to say the child has none. She appears to 
know nothing about that. Still, if she has her own 
voice I doubt if she will care about the child's.” 

Anthea went straight to her room, and rang for her 
maid, but the maid came up with a message from Her- 
rick: he wanted to speak to her; would she come to his 
room, or should he come to hers? 

And then Anthea remembered her child. 

“ I will come to Mr. Garston,” she said, “ and will 
be with him in a few minutes.” 

And then, throwing off her furs, by a tremendous 
effort she assumed her ordinary cold calm demeanor 
and went down-stairs to Garston's own study. 

Garston had delayed sending for his wife for two 
reasons. 

He was afraid of himself and of her. 

He felt that their mutual lives had come almost to 
breaking point, that her love for him was, if it had 
ever been there — which he now doubted — dead beyond 
all hope of resurrection. 

His own love was there, would be there for always, 
but it was badly wounded, and had shrunk back into 
itself. Just at present his love for his child was su- 
preme to him, and he feared that he would reproach 
the mother. 

And then — would the mother care ? 


CHERRY ISLE 


177 

If she received his terrible news with her usual cold 
indifference, her polite attention, he felt that he would 
come perilously near to violence. 

She had never loved the child, for the child had de- 
prived her of her voice. But he did not pretend to un- 
derstand his wife; she was more of a stranger to him 
now than she had been when he first gazed into her 
mystic eyes. With a groan he rose to his feet, and, 
ringing his bell, sent his message to his wife. 

Her slow, even step sounded outside, and she came 
into the room in her own usual dignified manner ; there 
was a slight flush in her pale cheeks, her hair seemed to 
glow with a richer sheen than it had had for some 
time, the white eyelids were lowered ; her resemblance 
to a statue, a statue slightly tinted flesh color, struck 
her husband — not for the first time. 

“ Marble made and marble-hearted the phrase 
suddenly recurred to him. 

Anthea came across the room and faced him; he 
was leaning against the mantelpiece, his hands thrust 
deep into his pockets. 

Each waited for the other to speak. 

The silence was becoming painful to both of them, 
and Anthea, perceiving this, spoke first, although she 
had determined to let Herrick speak as he chose, for 
she had no doubt whatever about the main result of 
Dr. Dumfry's examination. 

“ Well, Herrick, I expect the worst ; please let me 
know.” 

Garston did not look up, his brow contracted a little, 
and he spoke slowly. 


CHERRY ISLE 


178 

“ The child's vocal chords are almost altogether 
missing, and she will never speak at all.” 

He caught his breath with a quick sobbing sound, 
and glanced at his wife. 

She was merely looking rather thoughtful. 

When she answered, her husband knew that she 
would not say what she thought, for this much he did 
know of her, that when she forgot herself she always 
lifted her eyelids. 

“ Is there no cure? ” she asked, gravely. 

“ None whatever; how could there be?” he an- 
swered harshly. 

“ There might be treatment,” she hinted, quietly. 

“ Oh, yes,” said Garston impatiently, “ general 
health, good air, and so on, but the tragedy is com- 
plete: she will never speak.” 

He suddenly turned away, and, leaning against the 
mantelpiece, hid his face in his hands. 

A sudden fury of jealous hate seized upon Anthea. 
Yes! her husband could weep for the child's dumbness, 
but he had not wept for hers. 

She felt no pity for the man with his bowed head, 
no maternal instinct to comfort him woke within her, 
and she spoke coldly. 

“ Really, Herrick, I'm sorry that you take it like 
this. There may be other things which will compen- 
sate for the loss of voice.” 

Garston faced round, his eyes still full of tears. 

“ Merciful God, Anthea, have you no heart? ” 

“ I thought you knew I had only a voice ? ” she an- 
swered, with cold mockery, some extraordinary per- 


CHERRY ISLE 


179 


versity, possibly the dawning of another emotion of 
which she was unconscious, driving her to taunt her 
unhappy husband. 

Garston lost all his self-control, and spoke furiously: 

“ I know it now, to my sorrow. You have never 
loved our child. Indeed, I sometimes think you hate 
it just because you had to sacrifice something for it. 
Yes — you are just a woman with a voice: nothing 
more ! Heartless, cruel, selfish ! ” 

Anthea suddenly lifted her eyelids, and looked 
Herrick full in the face, and her voice which she had 
carefully suppressed rang clarion clear through the 
room. 

“After this disclosure of your thoughts, Herrick, 
it will be quite impossible for me to continue to live 
with you. ,, 

“ Just as you please, Anthea,” Garston answered, 
rather hoarsely ; “ the child and I only add to your 
unhappiness and you to ours.” 

Anthea had stood perfectly still hitherto, but now 
she took two or three steps forward, and spoke very 
slowly: 

“ What do you intend to do with the child, suppos- 
ing I agree to part with her ? ” 

“ I shall place her for the time being at Cherry 
Blossom Farm,” he answered, “ the place where, to 
our sorrow, we first met.” 

“Ah!” 

Anthea drew her breath in quickly, and then she 
flung her self-control to the winds, and spoke with 
gathering storm and passion: 


i8o 


CHERRY ISLE 


“ Yes, Herrick, we have been hopelessly wrong 
from the first. I married you for ambition and you 
married me from passion, and the outcome of that 
passion has been hate, for you hate me now even as I 
hate you. A man ruined my mother’s life, and you 
have gone near to ruining mine. My life has been a 
hell for the last three years. Why should you wonder 
if I, living in hell, have become a devil? Take your 
child and go whither you will, and I will be free again: 
you did not care for my anguish, why should I care 
for yours? Arrange everything as you like; I am 
going abroad to-morrow.” 

Charles Garston’s face had grown old and withered 
as he heard her speak, and as he saw the extraordinary 
eyes melt and glow with passion; he dropped wearily 
into a chair, saying in a voice out of which all life had 
died: 

“ You told me once, Anthea, that you lived for your 
voice and one other thing: if that thing was the com- 
plete ruin of a man’s life and happiness, you may be 
glad to know that you have succeeded only too well. 
You have killed my life — you whom I have loved.” 

Anthea hesitated, and then turned away and left 
him. 

By the door she paused, but Herrick never looked 
up; he felt that it was useless — he no longer had a 
wife. Then he heard the door close gently, and the 
soft sweep of Anthea’s trailing skirts sounded for a 
moment on the polished floor outside the room. Then 
silence, a heavy silence — his wife was gone, and his 
soul in bitter anguish declared it was better so. 


CHERRY ISLE 181 

The great artist lay back in his chair, all the un- 
happiness of his married life surging over him. 

Then when the pain was at its height, a little hand 
suddenly stroked his cheek, and, opening his eyes, he 
saw his child standing by him lifting solemn eyes of 
silent pity to his face. 

“ Little Poem, Cherry Blossom ! ” he whispered, 
gathering her to his bosom, and in the touch of her 
baby hands, in the pressure of her sweet lips to his, he 
found a healing balm. 

But he never knew, for the child could not tell him, 
that Anthea had gone straight from the study and 
had lifted the child in her strong arms and had carried 
her swiftly to the door, opened it silently, had made 
the little one pass in, and then had shut herself outside. 

In this manner Anthea lost her husband and her 
child and regained her voice, for through the years 
that lay before her, she never again lost it. 


CHAPTER XX 


'All now is silent ; groans are fled , 

Your child lies still , yet is not dead , 

But rather , like a flower hid here, 

To spring again another year. 

—Herrick. 

Summer in rich hot beauty lay over Cherry Blossom 
Farm, the summer before Garston and Anthea had 
finally decided to go each his and her own way, and 
the cherry trees, laden with ripest and most luscious 
fruit, bent their boughs downwards, as if offering to 
mother earth the first-fruits of their harvest. 

Underneath a certain white-heart tree lay young 
Herrick Sanders, a boy of eight years old. 

He lay flat on his back and his big brown eyes 
watched the disappointed birds which braved the terror 
of the clappers and of the steam scarecrow, and en- 
deavored to snatch a feast from between the meshes of 
the nets. 

He was a sturdy, well-grown youngster, and the 
delight of his mother and father. He, as well as Julia 
Garston, was an only child. 

True that in the churchyard there lay a tiny grave, 
on which flowers sprang year in year out, under whose 
fair blossoms slept a little sister who had only lived 
long enough to know that even a mother's care cannot 
1S2 


CHERRY ISLE 183 

guard from bitter pain. Poor Bessie Sanders spoke 
of her as “ my little snowdrop.” 

But Herrick remembered very little of this sister; 
he recollected only the tiny fingers and the tiny form, 
but he never forgot his father’s face as he told him 
that God had wanted the little sister back again, and 
had taken her. 

“ I fink,” he had answered, “ that mummie wanted 
her more.” 

Jim Sanders had only kissed his boy and bade him 
run out and play quietly, and after a while Bessie 
Sanders’ face had lost its pain ; but beneath her comely 
cheerfulness there always lay a memory, and Herrick 
knew the look that came into mummie’ s eyes when she 
was thinking of his little sister. She always looked 
like that when his godfather, Mr. Garston, wrote and 
told her of his little girl, for Miss Julia and the baby 
sister had been born on the same day. Miss Julia had 
kept her birthday here, but the little sister kept hers in 
heaven. They were all very fond of Miss Julia, and 
when Mr. Garston had brought her down for a few 
days in May, Herrick had loved to amuse her and 
show her all his treasures. 

“ Herrick, laddie, Herrick ! I want you,” called 
Bessie Sanders, still comely, if a little weather-beaten 
and toil-hardened. 

Herrick rolled over, and scrambled to his feet. 

“ Yes, mummie, I’m here; nearly asleep, I fink.” 

“ Little laziness,” laughed his mother, “ and here’s 
dad workin’ in the heat in the far fields, and as thirsty 
as never was, I know,” 


1 84 


CHERRY ISLE 


“ Let me take the beer then,” said Herrick ; “ I know. 
I fell last time, but you did say you would try me 
again, mummie, didn’t you now ? ” 

“ That I did, my own boy,” and her hand passed 
lovingly over the hot brow, pushing back the moist 
hair ; “ and I know you’ll be careful this time, seeing 
as how dad is hot and thirsty.” 

“ I’ll not run a bit, and be, oh ! so careful,” returned 
Herrick, with sober earnestness. 

“There’s my brave laddie; mother is ever so busy,” 
said Bessie, turning away to the house. “ Seeing as 
it’s Saturday, you can stay a bit, and I won’t expect 
you. Now get your big hat, for the sun’s fine and 
strong across the fields, and mind you go slow, laddie.” 

“Aye, mummie, and look where I’m going to. I 
reckon dad will want a lot o’ beer to cool him down.” 

Herrick followed his mother into the house, and put 
on his big linen hat, and stood watching her prepara- 
tions. 

Bessie handed him the big tin can half full of good, 
wholesome, home-brewed ale. 

“And how’ll you carry the pasties ? ” she asked. 

“ In the knapsack what my godfather gave me,” said 
Herrick, “ and then I can think I’m travelin’ like he 
did.” 

So Bessie strapped the knapsack, a very precious 
possession, onto Herrick’s shoulders, and packed the 
pasties tidily and firmly within it. 

Then she stooped and kissed him, and watched him 
tramp away, honest homely mother-love showing in 
her blue-gray eyes. 


CHERRY ISLE 


185 

“ He’s a bonnie laddie,” she thought to herself, and 
then her eyes wandered away to where the church spire 
was just visible. Herrick turned as he stood on the 
hill, and shouted in his clear young voice: 

“ I’ll not run, truly and truly, mummie. Dad shall 
have his beer all safe this time.” 

She nodded, and waved her sunbonnet, and went 
into the house smiling cheerfully to herself at the 
memory of the last time he had carried the beer, how 
he and his puppy had got hopelessly mixed together, 
and had come home drenched in beer. 

The little lad went on up the hill, under the laden 
fruit trees by the same pathway up which Anthea 
Argent had walked to meet her lover Charles. 

His father was working in the hayfields about three- 
quarters of a mile distant, and Herrick tramped along 
sturdily, bent upon redeeming his honor both to him- 
self and to his father. 

What a lovely day it was ! But wasn’t the sun hot, 
though! Now there was only a field, a stile, a lane, 
a gate, and there was dad working in the field beyond, 
cutting down all the long grass and turning it into 
hay ; but he would be carrying it now ; the cutting was 
over a week ago. 

Herrick reached the stile that led into the lane. It 
was what he called a twisty lane, and you could only 
see a little bit of it each way. The boy very carefully 
placed the tin can on the grass, then climbed over and 
lifted it up, and began to cross the rutty lane. He 
walked very slowly, for he had promised mummie not 
to run or hurry. 


1 86 


CHERRY ISLE 


A wild whirr of machinery, but he was not going 
to break the promise, and the child walked very de- 
liberately. 

A whirr again, a jar, a confusion of sound, the wild 
hoot of a motor tearing along at thirty-five miles an 
hour. 

The car was stopped at once. . . . 

The haymakers who were in the field, hearing the 
hoot and sudden piercing cry, came leisurely across the 
field to see what had happened. 

And so it chanced that Jim Sanders picked his boy 
up himself, and carried him to the bank under the cool 
shade of the trees. 

The father heard his son's last words uttered with a 
little sob of disappointment: 

“ Dad, I’m 'fraid I've spilt the beer, and I did tell 
mum I wouldn't." 

The driver of the car broke the silence. 

“ Can I — may we — the car " he stammered, “ a 

complete accident." 

Jim Sanders stood up and spoke to the haymakers: 

“ Your coats, mates," he said; “I'm goin' on to 
Bessie." 

“ But can't we? " began the driver of the car again. 

Then Jim, good Tory as he was, because he was a 
farmer and a man who took things as he found them, 
turned upon the man, and his voice was harsh and 
wild: 

“ You rich men have taken our land and our labor 
from us, you've took the roads for yourself, and in 
this quiet lane you've killed my boy. The curse of the 


CHERRY ISLE 187 

God of the people be upon you and yours — you mur- 
derers ! ” 

Then he strode away, up the hill and over it, and 
under the cherry laden trees; the little group of men 
followed slowly, bearing their burden with tenderness. 

So it came to pass that Cherry Blossom Farm was 
childless, and that the sound of little voices never 
echoed in the rooms. 

Harvest had come and gone, a harvest heavier than 
Jim had ever known it, trees and fields were garnered, 
and on one October night Jim made his way home 
through the driving rain,, carrying a letter with him 
which he had brought from the post-office. 

The kitchen was as tidy as ever, as he stood by the 
door taking off his wet coat, the fire burned as well as 
it had always done, the table was set as neatly as al- 
ways, the table-cloth was as white, and the food as 
appetizing and well cooked; and Bessie herself not 
much altered. 

Her face was thinner, the hair about the temples 
rather gray, and the honest eyes as steadfast as before. 
She came forward as lovingly as ever to help her hus- 
band into dry garments, but Jim knew what she had 
been doing while she waited for him. 

“ I've a letter from Mr. Garston for both of us,” 
he said, when the meal was over. 

“Ah ! ” said Bessie ; “ well, read it out, Jim, man.” 

She crossed the room to the window, and pulled 
aside the red serge curtains. 


1 88 


CHERRY ISLE 


“ The rain comes down heavy, Jim,” she said. 

“ Yes, it's drivin’ across the land and runnin' in 
channels over the fields,” answered Jim, wearily. 

Bessie turned away from the window with a stifled 
sob. 

Jim gazed at her drearily from his seat by the fire, 
and Bessie sank down on the spotless stone floor by 
him, and sobbed out: 

“And my boy out in it all for ever, and the earth 
growin' heavier on him day by day. Oh! Jim, our 
bonnie laddie ! ” 

Jim stroked her head with his rough heavy hand. 

“ He's got his sister wi' him, anyway, and so he'll 
not be so lonely. He was always a good lad, and I 
don’t doubt that the Lord's glad for her to have some 
one to play with.” 

“ Like enough,” agreed Bessie sadly, and then they 
were quiet for a while. 

Jim pulled the letter from his pocket, and said: 

“ Mr. Garston's in a rare lot o' trouble himself. 
Miss Julia's never goin' to speak, and the doctors have 
ordered country air.” 

“Oh, Jim,” and Bessie's voice quivered with fear; 
“ oh ! Jim, I couldn't have her here, and see her 
runnin' where my boy should be.” 

Jim Sanders was a wise man; he knew that his wife 
would be the better for some change in her life, and 
his deep loyal adoration of Garston had never changed. 
He went on speaking quietly: 

“And Mrs. Garston's gone abroad. I doubt they've 
quarreled, and he wants Miss Julia to be where he 


CHERRY ISLE 189 

knows she’ll be happy, and he’ll be down himself when- 
ever he can manage it.” 

“ Our lad thought a lot of Miss Julia,” the mother 
was speaking to herself, “ and he would have been rare 
and sorry to hear that she would never speak. Very 
well, Jim, I don’t suppose it will be for long.” 

“ I wonder if Mrs. Garston will be down at all,” 
said Jim, after he had read Garston’s letter to his wife. 

“ No,” returned his wife, “ and better not. That 
marriage was a mistake from the very beginning, and 
I never can like Mrs. Garston, good-looking though 
she is. I expect she’s only too glad to be rid of the 
child, and will take up her singin’ again. Oh! Jim,” 
and a sob rose in her throat, “ do you remember when 
she and Mr. Garston sang: * When we two were 
mayin’ ’ ? I’ll be glad when the day comes that our 
souls are at home with God. It’s like livin’ in lodgin’s 
always when your little ones are wi’ Him. How can 
Mrs. Garston bear to leave the baby, and she so pretty 
too?” 

“ I’m sorry for Mr. Garston, he’s takin’ this hard,” 
said Jim soberly. “Ah, Bessie, when you know what 
trouble is, it makes you soft to others.” 

“Very well, Jim; her nurse will be wi’ her for a 
time, I suppose.” 

“ Yes, but she’s to be married soon, and then there 
will be another one, Mr. Garston says.” 

“It’s to be for a time only, though, Jim,” said 
Bessie, anxiously. 

“Just as you think, Bessie; but I ’ud like to do a 
good turn to Mr. Garston. He’s been very good to 


190 


CHERRY ISLE 


us, you know, and he helped us over that bad year, 
when that frost killed all the blossom, and there was 
hardly a pound’s worth of fruit on the trees. He does 
love the blossoms, doesn’t he? ” 

“ That’s because he met his wife here,” said Bessie 
wisely; “ for whatever she thinks of him, he fair wor- 
ships her, and he’s the sort that don’t change.” 

And so Baby Julia came to live at the farm. Had 
the couple not been childless, Garston would not have 
trusted his little one to them, for he would not have 
cared for her to form too deep an affection for his 
little godson — good boy though he had been. As it 
was, he knew the simple goodness of the bereaved 
mother and father, and when after a while the nurse 
left to be married and Bessie begged for the entire 
charge of the child, he acquiesced at once. 

Bessie was an inveterate child lover, and Baby 
Julia’s loving nature and hers were strangely akin. 
The presence of the child made her life bearable. 

Watching Julia dancing under the blossoms, or 
sitting among the buttercups, “ seeing if she liked 
butter,” her great sorrow became sanctified, and she 
would fancy that a shadow-child played with Baby 
Julia, that her sturdy boy raced unseen by the little 
lady, protecting her from harm. 

So Anthea’s unwanted child healed the sorrows of 
the humble couple at Cherry Blossom Farm. 

To her father she was all in all, and that winter, 
again, he sang only in England or on the Continent, 
spending many hours with his child. Her fondness 
for music was a perpetual delight to him. 


CHERRY ISLE 


191 

Baby Julia at three years old could find music every- 
where. Her nature was happy, and the child was 
supremely peaceful in her country life. Her sorrows 
were the hours of her father’s departure, her joys the 
moments of his coming. 

She gave no sign of memory as regards her mother. 
Anthea seemed to have died out of her child’s life 
altogether. 

Garston wrote to his wife at regular intervals, tell- 
ing her of the welfare of their child, and Anthea in- 
variably acknowledged these short notes with answers 
even curter. 

They heard of each other through mutual friends; 
they read of each other in various papers. Each of 
them lived a life of public triumph. Anthea Argent’s 
reappearance on the concert stage was hailed with ac- 
clamation. She had her soul’s desire of triumph and 
success, and at first she found it satisfying. 

Then something upset her moral inertia. The 
coupling of her husband’s name with a famous woman 
singer at a public performance, a duet which she had 
been used to sing with him, his name in print. Little 
things of great spiritual significance, but Anthea, 
vaguely conscious that all was not well with her, 
turned with all her powers to her art. 

Her other purpose came again into her life. She 
desired no melodramatic vengeance upon the man 
who was her father, but the hatred of him was part 
of her being, and to stifle vain regrets she fostered 
the hate, and deliberately set various inquiries to 
work. 


192 


CHERRY ISLE 


So things went on with these two, until Baby Julia 
was verging on her sixth year. 

For three years husband and wife had never met, 
and there seemed no likelihood of their ever doing so. 


CHAPTER XXI 


God, Who’s in Heaven, will hear from thence, 

If not to th* sound, yet to the sense. 

—Herrick. 

Early summer once more lay upon the land, and a 
soft cool breeze was blowing over Cherry Blossom 
Farm. 

Bessie Sanders, tying Julia’s sunbonnet, stooped and 
kissed the dainty face. 

“ Don’t go beyond sight, Blossom,” she said, lov- 
ingly. Julia made a quick gesture, and pointed to the 
trees. “Ah! you want to go up to the trees to hear 
your harp; very well, lovey, I can see you from the 
door. ’Tis still early.” 

The child, a slim maiden, but very little changed in 
appearance, nodded her head, and walked slowly up 
the path under the trees. 

Bessie’s voice was much more refined than of yore, 
and her words altogether more purely pronounced. 
Garston had intimated that since music meant so much 
to his child, only beautiful sounds must be uttered in 
her hearing. Bessie had accordingly tried her hardest 
and, being a natural music lover, all the uncouthness 
had vanished from her voice ; honest Jim had not been 
so successful, but still he had improved. 

Julia clambered slowly up the little path, and Bessie 
i93 


194 


CHERRY ISLE 


watched her jealously; the child was walking in a 
golden pathway of sunlight, and the westering sun 
shone in gleams between the branches of the trees 
upon her little figure. 

Julia loved buttercups, and she stooped every now 
and then and gathered one. She added a daisy to the 
little bunch of wild flowers she was carrying, and then 
she picked a little wild parsley, and before she reached 
the tree in which Jim had arranged an seolian harp for 
her, her little hands were full of flowers. 

Julia was very intent on her flowers this evening. 

She held the buttercups up to the light, and let the 
sun play upon them. From time to time she looked 
up at the tree, smiling with satisfaction as soft weird 
sounds came from the harp. When the wind grew 
stronger, the harp gave forth sweeter and more in- 
tense notes, and Julia would drop her flowers and clap 
her hands. 

But the wind died away, and Julia bent all her atten- 
tion upon the buttercups and daisies; she was weav- 
ing them into a wreath for Bessie to put in water to 
be ready for daddy to-morrow. 

Auntie Bessie always understood her, and so did 
daddy. Uncle Jim didn't always, but that did not 
matter so much. Julia considered a voice almost 
superfluous, for all her little world understood her 
without words. She held the wreath up again to catch 
the sunlight. Suddenly, she was aware that a tall 
woman was standing a little way off, and that the 
sunlight on this woman's hair made it prettier than the 
buttercups. 


CHERRY ISLE 


195 


The child looked up at the woman, and the woman 
stood looking down at the child from underneath 
lowered eyelids. Julia gazed at her fascinated; some- 
thing in the broad brow and half shut eyes fascinated 
her, for she was very much her father's child. 

Then the woman came nearer, and knelt dowp. be- 
fore the child, and took her hat off and said slowly, 
taking the child’s hands in hers: 

“ Julia, do you remember me? ” 

But as Anthea spoke, the wind rose again, and 
played upon the harp, and Julia’s eyes left her mother’s 
face, and filled with a dreamy delight. 

“ Julia, do you know me? ” repeated Anthea. 

The mother’s voice, deep and sweet and living, was 
altogether new to the child’s ears. Julia remembered 
sound rather than sight, but something vague seemed 
to come back to her, and the sweet little face grew 
puzzled. 

Again Anthea asked: 

“ Julia, don’t you know me, little one? ” 

Julia smiled doubtfully, and then a dim suspicion 
of tears came into her blue eyes; she would have liked 
so much to tell this woman that perhaps she had 
dreamed of her, and she gave one or two gestures 
which daddy would have understood at once, but this 
woman with hair like her own only opened her eyes 
wide and gave a sort of gasp. 

In this first meeting with her child, Anthea had 
quite forgotten that Julia could not speak, and now 
the full force of the knowledge came to her with 
agony. 


CHERRY ISLE 


196 

She held Julia’s hands tightly, and looked into the 
troubled baby eyes. 

Then Julia smiled up at her, and Anthea, letting the 
hands go, stood up. 

“Never mind, Julia; I only wanted to see you. 
I’m going now.” 

Julia sprang up and took her mother’s long white- 
fingered hand, and gave her a little pull towards the 
farm. 

“No, Fm going away now, right across the sea. 
Julia, how’s daddy?” And Anthea’s voice trembled. 

Julia clapped her hands, and shut her eyes, and 
pointed to the sun, and Anthea understood. 

“ Coming to-morrow, is he? Good-bye, little girl.” 

Julia clung to the hand for the first time in her life, 
and pulled so vigorously that Anthea knelt down 
again. 

Julia’s wreath was nearly ready; she took it up, and 
laid it in triumph on this woman’s hair. 

The faint tinge of color in Anthea’s pale cheeks van- 
ished, as she felt her child crowning her; kneeling 
there, she felt a strange sensation pass through all her 
being. 

But Julia was not satisfied, and very gravely she laid 
her little hands upon Anthea’s lowered eyelids, and 
opened her mother’s eyes. 

Then she clapped her hands again, and danced and 
smiled. 

Anthea waited, and then she stood up and went 
away, carrying her hat in her hand and wearing the 
buttercup wreath on her stately head. As she went 


CHERRY ISLE 


197 

the wind rose and played upon the strings of the harp 
with a wailing sound. 

In the farm, Bessie had been standing at the door 
watching the child, and she had seen Anthea's tall 
figure suddenly appear. 

The sound of her voice floated down to her ears. 
Jim came hurriedly through from the kitchen. 

“ Who's that talking to the child ? ” he demanded. 

“ Hush ! ” said Bessie ; “ it’s Mrs. Garston.” 

“ Well, I never! ” ejaculated Jim, “ who would have 
thought it? Why, she's kneeling down.” 

“Hush,” said Bessie; “come inside, Jim. We 
ought not to watch ; a woman can’t bury her heart for- 
ever. I do hope this will be the beginning of better 
things for Mr. Garston.” 

“ But it would mean losin' the child ! ” said Jim, 
blankly. 

“ Yes,” agreed Bessie sadly; “ why, she's gone with- 
out a word, and Blossom's sitting listening again to 
the music.” 

“ I expect she thinks no one saw her. Shall you 
tell Mr. Garston to-morrow? " asked Jim. 

“ Of course not, great stupid! ” answered his wife; 
“ leave them all alone. Who knows but that the child 
will bring them together again? She must remember 
her, for she's not one to make friends quickly — and 
the wreath was meant for Mr. Garston.” 

After a while Julia came in, but although rather 
thoughtful, she made no endeavor to relate her inter- 
view with the woman with the strange eyes. She 
would tell daddy, if she could, to-morrow; he would 


198 CHERRY ISLE 

tell her why she seemed to have seen that face before. 
But she was sure the voice was new. 

* * * * * * * 

Charles Garston lay on his back under the cherry 
trees, and his daughter pelted him with buttercups. 
It was a pretty scene, but it lacked completeness, for 
there were no peals of lovely laughter, and the only 
voice was the man's. 

“ Hullo, play fair, Little Poem, ,, he said, as a par- 
ticularly big buttercup fell into his mouth ; “ there may 
be worms or wasps about." 

Julia clapped her hands, and cast a handful of 
buttercups into the air, and Garston sat up and 
stretched his arm out to catch her, but she evaded him, 
and danced back and forth like a sprite. 

“ I'm tired,” her father said ; “ I had to sing to the 
King last night, and I think I made him forget he 
was a King. But I would rather sing to my little 
daughter.” 

Julia stood still, and then signified by a movement 
that she wanted his attention. 

He understood at once, and answered: 

“All right, girlie, I’m listening hard.” 

Julia pulled her curls into a sort of hato round her 
forehead, and tucked them into her dress at the back; 
she stood quite still before her father, folded her lips 
until they looked thin, and then lowered her eyelids 
over the dancing blue eyes. 

Garston gazed at her in amazement, and then said 
roughly: 


CHERRY ISLE 


199 

“ Julia, open your eyes for God’s sake ; don’t keep 
them half shut like that.” 

Julia opened them, but gave a little impatient stamp 
and lowered them again; then she moved a step nearer 
with childish dignity. 

Then Garston understood. 

“ Julia, darling, are you asking who it is that does 
like that?” 

Julia clapped her hands; daddy had been slower 
than usual, but he had found out at last what she 
meant. 

“ My little daughter, who told you ? Who showed 
you how to do that ? ” 

Julia pointed to the sun and shut her eyes, and then 
pointed again to the hill. 

“ She came from there last night, and went again. 
Did she see Auntie Bessie or Uncle Jim? ” 

Julia shook her head, and then repeated her imita- 
tion of her mother. 

Garston took hold of his little daughter’s hand, and 
drew her onto his knees, and pressed her curls to his 
cheek. 

“ Little daughter,” he said tenderly, “ it was your 
mother.” 

Julia looked up in wonder, then pointed to her 
mouth. 

“ Yes, dear, when she last saw you her voice was 
gone. But it came again, and now she sings much 
better than daddy, as the sun shines brighter than the 
moon.” 

But Julia would not allow, this. She shook her curls 


200 


CHERRY ISLE 


vigorously, and then, pointing to the hill path, shut 
her eyes for a moment, and tried to pull him to his 
feet. 

But Garston smiled gently. 

“Ah, no, my Cherry Blossom, mother went over 
the hill by herself, and when she wants us we shall 
see her coming back. Perhaps she will one day, for 
oh ! my little Cherry Blossom, I want her, how I want 
her! ” 

Tears were not far from the singer’s eyes as he told 
his little daughter of his heart’s desire. 

“Little one, did she kiss you? Tell me, and then 
I may put my lips where hers rested.” 

But Julia shook her head, and held out her hands, 
and clenched the little fists. 

“ Only held your hands, and held them very tight. 
And what did you do to her, little one? ” 

Julia plucked some buttercups and twisted them to- 
gether, and put them on her curly head, and then 
pointed to the hill once more. 

“ You made a wreath, and she went away wearing 
it? Oh! Julia!” 

He rose and stood facing the breeze. 

Yes, it was here that he had first seen her coming 
to him — his cold, ambitious, mysterious wife and the 
mother of his child. 

But he had learned something of her in his loneli- 
ness; her absence brought him something which he 
had never known in her presence. 

He must wait until she turned to him, wait for her 
to come. He had yielded too much in the days gone 


CHERRY ISLE 


201 


by. It is only the saint who can be unharmed by the 
adoration of a human being, and Anthea was no saint. 

To win her he should have hurt her — should have 
been the normal man. Human nature is a queer mix- 
ture, and often we love best those who hurt us most. 
Garston, recognizing this, felt a wild desire to beat 
his stately wife into submission. 

And then he pulled up his vagrant fancies with a 
groan. It was all much too late: she would never 
forgive him for caring so deeply for the child’s loss, 
and for seeming not to have cared at all for her gain. 
He had never seen her since that night on which she 
had left him alone, and in his cold brief notes about 
the child he had never referred to Anthea’s voice in 
any way. 

She had not kissed her child ; in all probability she 
had come only to see if the child’s physique was in 
good condition. Having gone without a word, she 
probably felt satisfied that she had done her duty, and 
she would remain forever lost to him. Well, he had 
his daughter. 

But the child found her father but an indifferent 
playfellow for the rest of the day. 

When he wished her good-night he said : 

“ My Little Poem, you are a big girlie, and I want 
you to begin to learn all sorts of things. The first is 
to talk on your fingers, and then you and I can have 
lovely secrets.” 

The child flushed and nodded, and Garston went 
on: 

“ I am going to send a lady to you who will come 


202 


CHERRY ISLE 


every day and teach you. She will show you how to 
play on the fiddle, but that’s a secret. Daddy will 
learn everything you learn, and then he will be able to 
read your little hands.” 

The child flushed again, and looked up with appeal- 
ing eyes to her father, and the dumb anguish asked : 

“Am I never to speak, never to sing, never to say the 
words that spring into my mind ? ” 

He kissed her again and again, and then said 
brokenly: 

“ Little Poem, you have more music in you than 
any one I ever knew, and the music shall speak for you 
since God has seen fit to lay His hand upon your lips 
forever.” 

Julia turned away, and one ugly sob escaped her. 
Then she mastered her emotion. But oh! never to 
speak, never to have a voice like every one else, never 
to make a pretty noise herself when even the pussies 
could talk. 

She stood still, a long shiver passing over her little 
body. Then she turned round, and nodded bravely 
at daddy, who was sitting with his face half hidden by 
his hand. 

Within her baby soul the child vowed a vow. She 
was of the same unbending, unconquerable spirit as 
her mother, and she said to herself that she would 
learn, and if she could not speak, others should speak 
for her. 

When a few days later the teacher came, she found 
the child a marvelous pupil. 

Week by week, Garston learned the language of the 


CHERRY ISLE 


203 

dumb with her, and she had every mechanical ap- 
pliance possible as a substitute for speech. 

But her gift for music was, as her father said, 
unique, and the father would sing and the child play — 
and once again the child was perfectly happy. 

Garston concluded that he had been right in think- 
ing that Anthea’s desire to see the child was only to 
discover if she were well, for after a few weeks he 
received this letter: 

“ Dear Charles, I saw Julia, as she has probably in- 
formed you — a short while ago. I find she has been 
quite untaught, and cannot make herself understood. 
I think it is time you found some one to teach her. 

“ Yours, 

“Anthea" 

The letter was written from New York. She had 
never called him anything but Charles in her letters, 
and yet it always hurt him afresh when he read it ; but 
he wrote back quite as shortly, telling her that the 
child was now receiving the best of educations. 

And he was — her affectionate husband, Charles 
Garston. 


CHAPTER XXII 


Let one be 

A friendly patron unto thee . 

— Herrick. 

“ My dear Mrs. Garston, may I tell you how well 
you sang last night ? ” 

Anthea turned her head very slightly towards the 
speaker, and answered, lightly: 

“ Do you think I don’t know that myself ? ” 

“ Well, of course, you’ve read it in the papers,” said 
the man, whom the porter had announced as Mr. Bal- 
turin ; “ and when an audience goes demented as yours 
did last night, it must mean one of two things.” 

“Will you have some tea? If you will, just ring 
the bell,” said Anthea, folding up a letter as she spoke ; 
“ which two things do you mean? ” 

“Yes, tea isn’t a bad invention,” said Mr. Balturin, 
ringing the bell as he was commanded, and then seat- 
ing himself at a little distance from Anthea. “ The 
two things are obvious: an audience goes demented 
either because you have upset its equilibrium and 
roused it from its ordinary lethargy by your perform- 
ance, or because you have attracted it by your per- 
sonality.” 


204 


CHERRY ISLE 


205 

“And it was my singing then last night that had 
that effect ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Balturin rather drily, “ your singing — 
and your latest acquirement.” 

“ What is my latest acquirement ? ” asked Anthea 
lightly, although she knew perfectly well what he 
meant. 

“ You sang with your eyes wide open last night,” 
said the man; “ you have been foolish, if I may be so 
impertinent as to say so, not always to have done so.” 

“ Perhaps I have kept them closed till now, so that 
I might astonish the world by opening them,” answered 
Anthea, mockingly. “ Did you notice that they were 
open, or did some one tell you? You see, I do not 
deny the fact.” 

“ I noticed,” said the man calmly ; “ I always ob- 
serve you closely. I like to study you, I am doing so 
now; and you have opened your eyes wide several 
times within the last few minutes. I have seen a 
good deal of you during the last two years, and I never 
knew before that your eyes were of different colors.” 

Tea was brought in at this moment, and Anthea 
silently poured out two cups; inwardly, she was 
analyzing herself. Why did it not hurt her, as it al- 
ways had done hitherto, to be told her eyes were 
peculiar: she did not really care at all? During the 
last few days the astonishment that she had seen 
dawn in the faces of those to whom she had been 
speaking had affected her not in the least; when an 
expression of repugnance had come with swiftness into 
the face of a woman whom she had seen that morning, 


206 


CHERRY ISLE 


only a sensation of amusement had arisen within her. 
And now she looked across at the man who rose to 
get his tea, and said quietly: 

“ You are very impertinent, Mr. Balturin.” 

“ No, I am not,” said the man calmly; “ I simply 
say to you what I think. Of course, I do not pretend 
that I say everything I think, but you see I look upon 
you as an artist, and therefore speak to you as I would 
to a man.” 

“ Your explanation, I suppose, is the right one; at 
least I will believe that you are not being impertinent,” 
said Anthea, with more than a touch of coldness in her 
voice. “ You have been a very useful friend during 
the last two years.” 

“ But why have you opened your eyes on the world 
like this?” persisted the man. “You must forgive 
me for asking.” 

“ Must I ? ” answered Anthea lightly ; “ I don’t see 
why.” And that was all the answer she gave. 

She did not choose to say to this man, although he 
was a true and honorable friend, that the memory of 
a child’s hands lifting the lifelong lowered lids had 
been stronger than all the fear of the world’s opinion. 

Balturin was a man of forty, very tall and long- 
legged, very well dressed, very clean shaven, slightly 
bald, and very well off as regards the world’s goods.. 
He was an Englishman, and might have been a great 
politician had he not been too careless of the world’s 
opinion. He did not care to take the trouble to hide 
the fact that he looked upon politics as a huge game, 
in which the great issues of life and death and good 


CHERRY ISLE 


207 

and evil were but moves, and because the world re- 
quires veneer over its self-seeking. He was a man of 
many gifts. At forty he had been everywhere and 
done everything. For the last two years he had been 
listening to Anthea whenever she sang. 

He varied the occupation by listening to her hus- 
band, and he was watching with a somewhat danger- 
ous interest the game of life as it appealed to Mr. and 
Mrs. Garston. Anthea had seemed to him at first 
merely a voice, but his knowledge of the world, faulty 
only in one particular, told him that she was also a 
woman. 

The hiatus in his knowledge was merely that he had 
forgotten that he too was human, and that he too 
might not be exempt from earnestness. 

Having now seen her eyes, the eyes of different 
hues, he knew that she was much more than a voice, 
and his interest as a spectator became keener. As for 
Anthea herself, she liked him in her own cold fashion; 
he never wanted to give her presents, he never at- 
tempted to touch her hand, he never offended her al- 
most puritanical propriety of conduct, and occasionally 
he told her of Herrick. Intellectually and artistically, 
for he was an excellent musician of unimpeachable 
taste, they had much in common. 

Austin Balturin finished his tea, and then said 
calmly: 

“Of course, you have a reason for opening your 
eyes; women always have a reason for doing things. 
It is men who act without reason, although it is the 
custom to say just the opposite. Of course, you are 


208 CHERRY ISLE 

not going to tell me what I want to know — but I shall 
find out.” 

“ To say that you never will would be to allow that 
I have a reason,” retorted Anthea; “but I really should 
like your advice upon a difficult subject. I have here 
an offer from a certain Mr. Sylvester for a one-even- 
ing’s engagement if I can manage to fit it in.” 

“ I thought you artists mapped out your whole cam- 
paign years beforehand,” said Balturin. 

“ Well, we do as a rule, but there are always a few 
days which we keep to ourselves, and I could give him 
one of those if I chose. Do you know the man? ” 

Anthea’s lids dropped as she asked the question. 

“ Yes; I know him by repute,” said Balturin, rather 
gravely. 

“ Yes, of course, we all know that he is a concert 
manager on a large scale, otherwise I should presum- 
ably have nothing to do with him.” Anthea’s voice 
was very cold. “ But I mean what do you know of 
him as a man? ” 

“ I can tell you what he looks like,” answered Bal- 
turin, “ but why do you want to know ? ” 

“ I have heard rumors about him,” said Anthea, 
rather casually, “ and I do not care to sing under a 
management where rumors of that sort circulate.” 

Austin Balturin leaned back in his chair, and looked 
meditative. 

“ He is a man somewhere between sixty and seventy, 
I should say, and must have been remarkably hand- 
some ; as it is, he is very well preserved.” 

“Well?” Anthea was gravely balancing a spoon 


CHERRY ISLE 


209 


on the edge of her cup, and Balturin observed the 
trick lazily: she must be nervous, he had never noticed 
uneasiness of that sort before. 

“ Well, he is reputed to be wealthy, but I should 
say myself that he had lost heavily lately. He was 
running a series of prodigies, and they all had measles. ,, 

“ Nonsense ! ” said Anthea sharply, and the spoon 
fell with a little clatter into the saucer. 

“ Have you cracked it ? " the man asked, leaning 
forward. “ No, that's all right — no, it is not non- 
sense: of course, it might have been scarlet fever, and 
not measles. I know it was either spots or stripes, and 
that let him in heavily. Moreover, I believe he dabbles 
in Wall Street." 

“Yes, I dare say; but you have not answered my 
question," said Anthea impatiently. “ What sort of 
man is he ? ” 

“ Is Mr. Garston particular ? ” 

Balturin asked the question with great apparent 
innocence. 

Anthea just glanced at him, and he caught a peculiar 
expression in the odd attractive eyes. 

“ I am, and that is sufficient," she answered coldly. 

“ Then frankly I do not like the man ; there are no 
end of ugly stories about him, and I know a few of 
them are founded on fact, although, of course, the 
greater number are canards. But why sing for him ? " 

Anthea’ s eyes were covered as she answered calmly: 

“ Well, you see, he offers me seven hundred and 
fifty for two songs, and I have a particular reason for 
wanting that money." 


210 


CHERRY ISLE 


“ When is the engagement? ” 

“ Oh, not until November, and he has several big 
concerts on. This will be the third in the series.” 

“ Well, Eve told you something of the man. I 
expect he will keep on his feet, for he is the sort of 
man who rarely fails. Let me know if you decide to 
accept the engagement.” 

“ I will think it over,” answered Anthea; “ and now 
I must dismiss you. I have to practise, and my ac- 
companist will be here in a few minutes.” 

Balturin stood up and held out his hand : 

“Are you always going to open your eyes wide 
now, Mrs. Garston?” he asked in a tone of sober 
interest. 

“ If I can remember to do so,” answered Anthea 
gravely, “ but it is a lifelong trick of mine to close 
them. They are not really shut, you know. I can 
see perfectly well, but it is one of the things I wish to 
alter in my life.” 

“ I heard Garston sing last week,” Balturin said 
casually as Anthea shook hands with him. 

“Ah, and was he in as good voice as ever ? ” Anthea 
was politely interested. 

“ I think so ; he looks much older than you, and his 
hair seems to have gone white pretty early. He will 
have to take to dyeing.” 

“ Mr. Garston is above such pettiness,” Anthea said, 
haughtily. 

“ He seemed pretty well, though. I met him after- 
wards, at a sale ; he was buying a violin, and was pay- 
ing a tidy price for it. Does he play ? ” 


CHERRY ISLE 


2 1 1 


“ Not that I know of,” Anthea said; “I expect it 
was for some one else. And now, good-bye ! ” 

Austin Balturin went away feeling an added interest 
in the great woman singer. 

“ Is she separated from her husband, I wonder?” 
he thought to himself. “ There’s been some tragedy 
in poor old Charlie’s life, and I shouldn’t wonder if 
Mistress Anthea isn’t at the bottom of it all. A 
woman with eyes like that is bound to work tragedy 
sooner or later. Jove, to think I never caught a 
glimpse of them all these years, and it must be at least 
seven since Charlie introduced me to his wife ; they’ve 
not met for months, and yet each wants to hear news 
of the other. Wonder what the root of it is. Mrs. 
Anthea gave up the stage for some years, I know; 
I heard of her retirement when I was doing Eastern 
Asia.” 

Austin Balturin was given to the study of humanity, 
and to do him justice he never put to ill uses the knowl- 
edge that he gained from human books. 

He had no end to further, he had nothing to gain ; 
he only wished to live his lazy, intellectual, interesting 
and selfish life exactly as he did. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


No fault in womankind at all 
If they hut slip and never fall. 

— Herrick. 

Anthea had said that she was expecting her accom- 
panist, and so she was; but she had an appointment 
with some one else first. As the hands of her watch 
pointed to five o’clock a Mr. Gregory was ushered in. 

Anthea bowed stiffly, and motioned him to be seated. 

He sat down rather clumsily, holding his hat in one 
hand and a strong stick in the other; he was rather 
short and stout, and looked eminently respectable and 
dull ; his mustache was light and his hair scanty. 

“Well, madam,” he began; “I have followed out 
your instructions, and can lay before you in full detail 
the life of the gentleman in whom you are interested.” 

“ I do not want the details — only the general out- 
lines,” answered Anthea, with a slight gesture of dis- 
gust. 

“ I have traced him back for thirty years or so, and 
here is a recent photograph. It’s in all the shop 
windows.” 

The man handed her a photograph, and Anthea ex- 
amined it closely. 

A tall stout man, in evening dress, thick curly hair, 
ringed fingers, well-made nose slightly on one side, and 

212 


CHERRY ISLE 


213 


a heavy jowl, decorated with a dark mustache; but the 
lips were thick, although the brow and eyes were good. 

A man one would say who worshiped the world and 
the flesh, and possibly the devil into the bargain. A 
man the touch of whose hand would send a shudder 
through an innocent boy or girl. Anthea gazed 
steadily at the portrait in her hand, and did not once 
look away from it as she continued the conversation: 

“ I obtained a good many details from one of his 
mistresses, and he has long ” 

Anthea made a gesture: “ There, that will do — you 
mean he is a bad and immoral man.” 

“ Roughly speaking, I suppose so,” Mr. Gregory 
answered cheerfully; “he certainly has a very bad 
name everywhere.” 

“And his financial position? ” questioned Anthea. 

“ Rotten ! ” was the concise answer ; “ he’s head over 
heels in debt, his credit is practically gone, and only 
the fact of these concerts coming off in New York in 
the autumn keeps him together. You see, he has some 
big names. There’s Madame Lavago, she best knows 
why she’s singing for him; then there is the great 
violinist — oh! and several more. He should make a 
good thing of it. Also I understand that he has made 
a bet that he will engage you ” 

“ Indeed?” 

“Yes,” and Mr. Gregory was evidently interested 
in his subject. “ He’s had to pay a tidy sum down 

for the ,” mentioning one of the biggest theatres 

in the world, “ and if nothing upsets his calculations, 
he will certainly clear himself.” 


214 


CHERRY ISLE 


“Even if he cannot obtain my name?” asked 
Anthea quickly. 

“ Oh, yes, I should think so. He’s got such a hold 
over a number of great people, whose reputation is 
none too good, and who don’t care to have a ball of 
questions set rolling.” 

“ Thank you,” said Anthea stiffly. 

She hated this side of her career, this seaminess, this 
ugliness which had very rarely drawn near to her. 

Mr. Gregory rose. 

" That’s all, ma’am, I think. Any details which 
you wish to know I can let you have, and, of course, 
the whole of this is absolutely confidential.” 

“Still, I suppose you have notes of the case?” 
asked Anthea, leaning forward and reaching for a 
check book which had been lying ready for her. 

“ Numbers only, and the details we carry in our 
heads. I may say, madam, that we never give a client 
away, even when better pay is mentioned. It would 
be bad for our profession if we could not be depended 
on.” 

“ I suppose it would,” answered Anthea thought- 
fully, as she wrote the check. “ Well, here is the ac- 
count with a little commission over.” 

“ Thank you, madam,” answered the man briskly. 

There were whispers, just springing up into ex- 
istence, that Mrs. Garston was separated from her 
husband, and that their child was an idiot ; but “ Mr. 
Gregory ” had investigated for himself, and had found 
that this was not so. A mutual separation most likely 
— people often got tired of one another. His work 


CHERRY ISLE 215 

had engendered lack of confidence in the stability of 
human affection. 

Mr. Gregory pocketed his check, picked up his 
bowler hat, bowed profoundly, and took his departure. 
Anthea never heard of him again, although he al- 
ways kept an eye on her name when it appeared in the 
papers. 

Left to herself, Anthea sat looking at the photo- 
graph which the inquiry agent had left with her, and 
as she looked the expression on her face was not 
pleasant. 

The broad brow and upper part of the head always 
had contradicted the lower, and now her lips grew 
very thin, and the jaw took on its coldest curve. It 
would not be well for the man or woman who crossed 
the singer’s path while she was in this mood. 

After a while she opened a case which was lying on 
the table, and drew out a small packet. The packet 
was tied with string and sealed. It had been all over 
the world with her, but there was no melodrama about 
her to-night — no choking cries, and thoughts of “ what 
might have been,” no long gazes at the contents, no 
trembling of the hands. 

She opened it, and before her lay two photographs, 
a man in early middle age and a young girl. Under- 
neath the portrait of the man was written, “ Munro 
Sylvester,” and underneath the girl’s, “Dolores Argen- 
tino.” 

The handwriting was Anthea’s own, and it was in 
big unformed childish letters. She remembered writ- 
ing the names, after her mother had told her her own 


216 


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sad history — for the two faces which lay before her on 
the table were the faces of her mother and her father. 

Poor young mother! Anthea thought of what she 
herself had been at sixteen, and she felt no desire to 
condemn the piteous sinner. She sat, looking down 
at the portraits, her memory going back into the past. 
She had told Garston the barest outlines of her history, 
but had told them faithfully, for Anthea had been too 
self-centred to be anything but truthful all her life. 

Chance had brought her once again into the area 
wherein the man Munro Sylvester had his being, and 
she was weighing many things in her mind as she sat 
looking down at the two portraits. 

Only once had she seen this man, and that was in 
her years of poverty. 

But the occasion was burned into her memory. 

Her mother had taken her to a carnival, and the 
child Anthea had sung and danced in a public garden, 
her mother at the time having found temporary em- 
ployment at the Gardens. 

The entertainment was over, and Anthea, a thin slip 
of a girl of thirteen, was going round the little tables 
in the dusky light, searching for eatable pieces of cake. 

As she was pursuing her search her mother came 
out to her. 

The fairy lamps were nearly all extinguished, and 
her mother, with her big eyes, white thin face, and 
skeleton hands, looked to her like a ghost. Her hair, 
copper-colored as Anthea’s, but long since shorn of its 
lovely sheen, hung in disorder round her face, and her 
brown eyes were wild and staring. 


CHERRY ISLE 


217 

“ Come with me ! ” she said, and her voice was 
shaking. “ Come with me — I have something to show 
you.” 

Anthea, usually silently rebellious, was awed by her 
mother’s manner, and she followed after her as she 
moved quickly among the trees. In the central part 
of the garden the lamps were still burning, and a 
couple were prolonging their supper at a little table. 
The light fell very brightly upon the man and the 
woman; the face of the woman had passed from 
Anthea’ s memory, but every detail of the man’s ap- 
pearance had seared itself into her brain. 

He was very well dressed, very well groomed, and 
he was leaning forward with eyes like the eyes of a 
bird of prey watching the face of the woman. 

The Anthea of the present day glanced at the old 
photograph and at the new. 

Yes — he was very little altered. 

Her mother had held Anthea by the hand, and the 
clasp of her thin fingers had grown fiercer and hotter. 

“ Look at the man, child,” she had said ; “ look at 
him.” 

“ I am looking,” Anthea had answered gloomily. 

“ Shall you remember forever?” had been the 
words that came next, uttered fiercely. 

“ I never forget, mother, you know.” Anthea even 
then knew herself. 

Her mother had then drawn her away, and in a 
fierce whisper had told her that the man was Munro 
Sylvester. 

Anthea knew her mother’s story, for her mother, 


218 


CHERRY ISLE 


with that strange vanity that so frequently prompts 
confession, had told it to her many a time, and Anthea 
had often in her childish intolerance condemned her 
wild unbalanced parent. 

But as she had seen her mother that night, even 
then far down the death road, wild and lost for love, 
something else woke forever in her narrow, childish 
nature. 

The woman was outside the pale. The man was 
well dressed and well fed, wealthy, still young, still 
able to enjoy, still certain of comfort in this world 
whatever he might expect in the next. 

The daughter of the man saw this, saw it with all 
the vivid coloring of the Italian night, and with all the 
suppressed drama of her nature. 

She looked straight at her mother, drawing in her 
breath with a quick gasp. And the poor remnant of 
childhood that the girl had possessed fell from her for 
always as she spoke : 

“ I’ll not forget, mother; I’ll kill him one day.” 

Then, before either mother or daughter could say 
more, they were summoned with coarse words of com- 
mand to perform various menial offices, which occu- 
pied them far into the night. 

For years Anthea dwelt upon the thought of venge- 
ance until it had become ingrained into her being, 
together with her keen ambition. 

She had come to see, of course — for she was very 
much of a woman of the world — that killing or any 
vengeance of melodramatic character was entirely out 
of the question. And, looking at the photographs, she 


CHERRY ISLE 


219 

smiled grimly to herself at the fantastic ideas that had 
seemed possible to her ten years ago. 

She had not the remotest intention of confronting 
her parent, and disowning and cursing him ; none ex- 
cepting herself knew she was the daughter of Munro 
Sylvester, and none should ever know. But there 
were subtle ways of punishing this man, and as she sat 
deep in unholy thought, a vague scheme began to for- 
mulate itself in her mind. 

She reviewed slowly and in an orderly fashion the 
facts of this man’s life. He had had no mercy on her 
mother, he had not even given her money when she 
had lost her voice ; he had callously and hideously cast 
her away to starve: then afterwards his life had appar- 
ently been lived in the same groove, one long gratifica- 
tion of his own desires at the expense of others. 

Had he done the world of music any service? No, 
for his career had pandered entirely to the popular 
taste, and had in no way given it aught but gilded 
poison. 

No — he deserved no mercy — and, so far as his 
daughter could guide fate, he should have none. An- 
thea was not a religious woman in any sense of the 
word: she had made art her god, and had served the 
god faithfully. 

Her ambition was satisfied — and her heart empty. 
Her voice was divine — and her child was dumb. The 
world worshiped her, called her its darling, and her 
husband had absolutely ceased to care. 

And this castle of gold with its empty rooms she had 
built for herself from her own design! 


220 


CHERRY ISLE 


At first the glitter and sheen of it, its wonderful 
lines and curves, had been more than enough ; but now 
she was owning to herself that it was all “ Dead Sea 
apples,” and exceeding bitter. 

The touch of the little hands upon her lowered eye- 
lids had opened her eyes physically and mentally. Her 
soul was very much in the balance, and no outside ob- 
server — least of all such a one as Mr. Balturin — could 
have said which power would claim her. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


Thus , thus we live , and spend the hours 
In wine and flowers. 

— Herrick. 

Mr. Balturin knew that all Mrs. Garston’s engage- 
ments for that year were in the States, and all Mr. 
Garston’s either in England or on the Continent. 
After casting up probabilities in his mind, he deter- 
mined that he would be able to dissect Anthea better 
if he could find out rather more about his friend Gar- 
ston; so he repaired to England, and one Sunday 
morning called upon him. But the singer was out of 
town, having gone down for the week-end to Cherry 
Blossom Farm. 

At first he thought he would follow him there, but 
a moment’s consideration told him that he would 
probably learn more about his friend if he went about 
the clubs. 

At the end of the day he was quite satisfied. He 
had picked up a heterogeneous mass of information 
about Garston, and it took him the whole evening to 
pigeon-hole it in his orderly mind. 

Firstly, it was rumored that Garston was going to 
divorce his wife because of her predilection for him- 
self. This was most entertaining — particularly so 
when he disclosed his own identity to his informant, 
221 


222 


CHERRY ISLE 


who thought that he had been making a favorable im- 
pression on this exceedingly well-dressed man. 

Secondly, it was well known that husband and wife 
had sworn never to hear each other sing, or even ever 
to live in the same country. 

Thirdly, they were perfectly good friends and even 
an affectionate couple, but were bent on making a huge 
fortune for their idiot child, to whom they were both 
devoted. 

Fourthly, that the child was a dumb idiot, a cripple, 
a musical genius whom they were educating in secrecy, 
and that it had two heads, and two voices — a tenor and 
a soprano. 

Fifthly, that Garston was desperately in love with 
a music-hall celebrity, and that Mrs. Garston was go- 
ing to institute proceedings for the restitution of con- 
jugal rights. 

Sixthly, that some years ago Mrs. Garston had tried 
to cut her throat after she had quarreled with her hus- 
band, that she had injured her voice, that it had taken 
several years to recover, and that was why she had 
retired into private life for a period. 

Seventhly, his informant had met some one who had 
seen the scar. 

Eighthly, they were just an ordinary couple whose 
work separated them, but when Mrs. Garston had been 
in England a little while ago she had stayed with her 
husband and child. Garston himself had said inci- 
dentally to the speaker that his wife had been down to 
the farm early that summer. 

Balturin enjoyed himself immensely, nor was he 


CHERRY ISLE 


223 

altogether annoyed at the coupling of his name with 
Anthea’s ; but it did make him think a little. Then he 
decided that his interest in her was purely intellectual, 
and he proved it to himself by the fact that here he 
was in England, collecting information, whilst he 
might have been in America hearing her sing and see- 
ing her. 

One thing really gave him considerable food for 
thought. 

Some change must have taken place in Anthea, for 
all the American papers for a day and a half had de- 
voted columns to the discovery that she had different 
colored eyes, and all those who had seen or known 
Anthea formerly denied this, and asked him if it were 
true. Sometimes he denied it with careful truth, other 
times he gracefully avoided answering; but although 
a mere newspaper detail it meant something, and that 
something Balturin set himself to discover. 

Much to his astonishment Charles Garston rang 
him up at his club, and invited him to supper after a 
concert at which he was singing. With the invitation 
he enclosed a ticket for the concert. 

Balturin found himself waiting rather eagerly for 
Garston’s appearance. He was exactly the same, 
rather grayer perhaps, rather thinner, singing even 
better than usual. At supper he was precisely what he 
always had been — an extremely good fellow. 

Cautiously Balturin introduced Mrs. Garston’s name. 
He had heard her sing ten days ago, and, watching 
very closely, he saw the muscles in Garston’s wrist 
tauten and then relax. 


CHERRY ISLE 


224 

He is not indifferent, thought Balturin. 

“ It’s a long time since I heard my wife sin g,” said 
Garston in complaining tones ; “ our engagements are 
fixed up some years ahead, and we’ve got them into a 
howling muddle. She’s in one place, and I’m in an- 
other.” 

He doesn’t want me to know there’s a separation, 
thought Balturin. 

“Can’t you cut a few?” he asked. “Mrs. Gar- 
ston’s voice is finer than it ever was, I think. America 
is simply wild about her, and is ready to burn the hall 
or theatre down if she fails to put in an appearance.” 

“ Yes, she’s been in the papers a good deal,” laughed 
Garston; “and I expect she is in a fearful temper. 
There were columns in one rag last week about her 
eyes.” 

“ Yes, I was astonished when I saw her eyes. They 
are a great asset.” 

Garston gave an impatient gesture as Balturin said 
this, and then laughed. 

“ Quite needlessly, my wife has always been annoyed 

with her own eyes, but I ” his voice sounded 

dreamy ; “ I fell in love with them the first time I saw 
them.” 

(He still loves her — wonder if she has opened them 
to please him, thought Balturin. ) 

“Well, the reporters ought to be thankful; it’s 
made yards of copy.” Balturin flicked a crumb away 
as he spoke. “ By the bye, does the child inherit the 
peculiarity? ” 

“No,” answered Garston regretfully, “no; she has 


CHERRY ISLE 


225 


lovely blue eyes, but she has much of her mother in her. 
I say, Balturin.” Garston leaned forward and low- 
ered his voice, although there was no one near. 

“ Yes,” Balturin’ s voice immediately adopted a con- 
fidential inflexion. 

“ Would you mind telling me what they say of the 
child ? I know every one talks to you, and you forget 
nothing.” 

Balturin answered promptly: 

“ They say she is the two-headed Nightingale over 
again.” 

Garston drew a breath of relief, and laughed. 

“ Oh ! that’s all right ; they evidently feel bound to 
make things hum. See here, this is a photo of our 
child.” 

“An uncommonly good-looking little beggar,” said 
Balturin, smiling back again at the laughing face of the 
dainty child ; “ do you think she is like her mother ? ” 

The question succeeded. Garston pulled out a sec- 
ond photograph, and handed it across the table, saying 
eagerly: 

“ Just compare the two.” 

(Of course, he’s in love with his wife still, and that 
means that she is not so with him, thought Balturin. ) 

“ Well, she’s like you, I think,” he said in tones of 
grave consideration; “but there is a touch or two of 
her mother.” 

“ Julia is rather delicate, or, I should say, has been,” 
said Garston, as if he were thinking of something else; 
“ and as her mother and I are away so much she lives 
with an excellent couple in the country. She is a 


226 


CHERRY ISLE 


musical genius, and we have to be very careful of her. 
But I don’t expect this interests you, Balturin,” Gar- 
ston added with a laugh. 

“ On the contrary,” answered Balturin with perfect 
truth, “ I am intensely interested in what you say ; you 
know my hobby is the study of humanity.” 

“ To what purpose ? ” asked Garston with sudden 
dryness; “ for their benefit, or for your own? ” 

“ My own, of course,” answered Balturin lightly ; 
“ I don’t know any one but Arbuthnot who works en- 
tirely for other people’s benefit.” 

“Ah, Arbuthnot!” and Garston spoke quickly; “I 
haven’t seen him for years, and he and I are great pals, 
you know. Where is he ? ” 

“ Oh, he’s conducting some mission or other in the 
States — investigation work, and so on, with a lot of 
Johnnies who belong to some Monastic order.” 

“Monks!” ejaculated Garston. “All the Arbuth- 
nots are ecclesiastically minded, but I should have 
thought old Cecil the last to become a monk.” 

“ Oh, well, not exactly a monk, you know. A seven 
years’ vow, I believe, not a lifer,” explained Balturin. 
“ I don’t mind betting that Arbuthnot will leave at the 
end of his seven years: the Chastity and Poverty vow 
would be second nature to him; but I really do not 
think he could manage the Obedience part.” 

Garston laughed. 

“ You’ve hit it, Balturin,” he said. “ Old Cecil 
never truckled under to any one, least of all to his 
superiors.” 

“ He’s a man who had the world at his feet,” went 


CHERRY ISLE 


227 

on Balturin lightly. “ I know for a fact he could 
have married Alys Mayder; had he done so, Sir Lewis 
could have helped him enormously, but he chucked it 
all. He has grown rather thin, looks older and sterner, 
and has a trick now of making a man feel he's on the 
high road to hell." 

“ Have you seen him lately ? ” asked Garston. “ I 
must be off now, Balturin ; I’ve got an appointment." 

“ Saw him in New York last week; we met by acci- 
dent in the street. He was wearing a kind of habit, 
and looked yards high; but he was quite glad to see 
me. He asked after you, and I told him I had just 
come from tea with Mrs. Garston,” said Balturin, 
cheerfully. “ He sent kind regards to your wife and 
love to you." 

Garston stood up and held out his hand. 

“ Well, I’m going to hear my wife sing pretty soon, 
I hope. I've got a blank space, kept it on purpose, for 
next month, and now that we can do the crossing in 
five days, it's worth a flying visit." 

“ I’m going back again : have got a piece of work I 
want to see the end of," answered Balturin, “ so to our 
merry meeting under the stars and stripes. Salaam, 
old man." 

Balturin was quite satisfied with his little journey, 
and he went back again to play with fire, though he 
did not know it. 

But then who does know the nature of the com- 
modities with which he deals? Anthea's life was 
strangely affected by this careless man's actions. 


CHAPTER XXV 


As I went my private way , 

An olive branch before me lay. 

— Herrick. 

Julia drew the bow across her violin, and a long 
full note floated up amongst the branches: she was 
harmonizing with the wind that rushed over the seolian 
harp, and her manner of so doing would have de- 
lighted a musician. She had taken to playing, so 
Uncle Jim said, like a duck to water: there was no 
keeping her away from her violin. 

She had grown considerably in the last few months. 
In some ways she was old and thoughtful for her 
years; perhaps this was the result of her inner life of 
silence which she was forced to lead. 

But she was quick to understand, for she had her 
mothers brain and her father's heart. She played 
softly, following the wailing notes of the wind with 
extraordinary skill. She was waiting for her father's 
coming — for her weekly treat. 

There he was! Down went the violin, very care- 
fully though, and Julia's long legs were speeding along 
the winding path. With a wild spring she was clasped 
in his arms. 

“And how are Auntie Bessie and Uncle Jim ? ” Gar- 
ston asked. “ Little Poem is perfectly well, I see, and 
learning ever so much." 


228 


CHERRY ISLE 


229 


Julia nodded, and spoke rapidly on her fingers, and 
her father, who had devoted a good many hours a day 
to learning the language of hands and signs, followed 
easily. 

“ Yes, heaps of things. I made a pudding yester- 
day, and oh! daddy ” Julia slipped out of his 

arms, and pulled him vehemently up the hill after her. 

She led him to her tree and, taking up her violin 
again, played as she had played before. 

Garston stood listening, forgetting that it was his 
child playing, just hearing mortal music mingling with 
the harmonies of heaven. Of course, it was simple — 
but the effect was fairy-like. 

Julia ceased playing, and gazed with some expecta- 
tion at her father. 

He stooped and kissed her, his eyes suspiciously 
bright. 

“ Cherry Blossom,” he said solemnly, “ the Gods 
have given you more than they have taken away.” 

Julia put the instrument down, and spelled out: 

“ IBs my voice. It speaks instead of me.” 

“ Yes, my baby, and it shall speak in tones that are 
never forgotten,” said Garston solemnly. “ Now, 
Little Poem, forget music and listen.” 

Julia nodded, and her father sat down on a bench. 
She climbed into his lap, and by a gesture indicated 
that she was ready for him to speak. 

“ Little Poem,” he began, “ daddy is going over the 
sea next week.” 

She looked up at him, a mist of tears gathering at 
the back of the blue eyes. 


CHERRY ISLE 


230 

“And how would Little Poem like to come with 
daddy for a holiday? We will go in a big ship, stay 
in New York for two or three days, and then come 
back again, when daddy will stay here for a whole 
long week.” 

Julia's eyes grew big with glee: a ship, the sea, and 
daddy for all that time ! 

“ Julia, I’ll tell you a secret,” he whispered. “ I’ll 
tell it you low in case the winds hear it.” 

The child gazed solemnly at her father. 

“We are going to hear mother sing, and, Cherry 
Blossom, there’s never a voice like mother’s all the 
world over.” 

Julia shut her eyes involuntarily, in imitation of her 
mother’s mannerism. 

“ No, Little Poem.” Garston’s voice broke a little. 
“ I heard the other day from some one who sees a lot 
of mother, that she opens her eyes always now. Oh! 
Julia!” He leaned his head on the child’s hair, so 
wondrously like her mother’s, and thought drearily of 
the space of years between him and his wife. 

Time brings comfort and softening of trouble; but 
it also brings separation. 

Garston had not found comfort, or even soften- 
ing. His was a loving emotional nature, and he had 
something of a woman’s heart within him, for all true 
artists are man and woman. 

Anthea had treated him so badly that he loved her 
all the more. Her clear cold crystal nature had at- 
tracted him with mesmeric power. 

She had been to see the child; perhaps if he sought 


CHERRY ISLE 


231 


her with the child, they might be reconciled. He was 
filled with a wild longing to hear her voice again, as 
he had heard it in the days before the coming of their 
daughter. 

Julia slipped her childish hand into his, and clasped 
his tightly ; with the other she stroked his hair turning 
gray so rapidly. 

“ Should you like it, Little Poem ? ” he asked gently. 

Julia clapped her hands and laughed, and then she 
looked gravely towards the house. 

“ Yes, Auntie Bessie thinks it would do you good, 
little one,” her father said cheerfully ; “ and your 
teacher needs a holiday. I’m going to get a nice nurse 
for you, who will help you dress, as daddy’s only a 
clumsy man.” 

Julia frowned, and Garston laughed. 

“We must not run daddy down, must we? And 
now, Julia, come and show me all the pigs and chickens 
and the flowers.” 

A long happy afternoon was spent, Julia showing 
her father all her secret places, all her cozy corners, 
where the prettiest flowers grew. 

They were capital companions, these two, and un- 
derstood each other perfectly. 

Great emotions always make us elemental, and Gar- 
ston schemed and thought of how he would appear 
before Anthea with Julia. He dreamed impossible 
dreams of which he was the soulful hero. He built 
greatly on the fact that she was overcoming her trick 
of lowering her eyelids; surely she was doing it be- 
cause he had once asked her to ! 


CHERRY ISLE 


232 

It was with hearts full of hope that the singer 
and his child set forth to win back the cold proud 
mother. 

Julia was wild with delight; the whole world was 
new to her, everything was full of music, and she was 
going to hear mother sing, that mother whom she re- 
membered, as in a fleeting vision, tall and stately, with 
hair like her own, and wondrous fairy eyes. 

Garston traveled under an assumed name, for he did 
not want Anthea to know that he was coming. Of 
course, many of the passengers on the great liner dis- 
covered his identity, and they all thought his child, 
who was so continually with him, a very silent little 
mortal. Some strange instinct kept Julia from talking 
on her fingers in public, but she was so quick to under- 
stand, so expressive in gesture and face, that the few 
who tried to make her acquaintance thought her shy 
and silent, but did not discover she was dumb. 

Her teacher, a certain Miss Raynes, a good-looking, 
very capable young woman, had volunteered to act as 
nurse during the flying visit, and under her most judi- 
cious care the child was very carefully tended — and 
most wonderfully happy. 

The voyage was a record one; day and night the 
marvelous machinery whirled, and the great turbines 
did their work. 

Having arrived in New York, Julia went to bed, 
repeating in her mind: “ To-morrow mother sings.” 

******* 

Anthea was tired. Her tour was nearing its end, 


CHERRY ISLE 


233 

and the gigantic distances to be traveled during an 
American tour make it a fatiguing experience. 

She was also depressed, and decidedly cross, and 
half a hundred little things had added to her crossness. 

Her dress had had to go back to the costumiere to 
be altered, and since she liked to dress at leisure, the 
delay had annoyed her. Then she had a slight head- 
ache, and her maid, after having completed Anthea’s 
toilette with great skill, had caught a button of her 
dress in Anthea’s hair, and had disarranged the simple 
coiffure. 

The maid had nearly wept, but her mistress had 
only said: 

“ Please be careful, Annee.” 

Altogether Anthea was slightly on edge, and since 
this was a big occasion, she was always conscious of 
the possibility of her voice going wrong. 

Then at the last moment, her perfectly appointed 
car broke down, and she had to send for a hired one. 
Then there was an uncomfortable crush, and Anthea’s 
car, not being recognized as the car of the great prima 
donna, had to stand and wait with others. 

The cars were all drawn up waiting for a clear road, 
and Anthea was leaning back impatiently, for she had 
not much time at her disposal, when another car moved 
up, and for a few minutes the two were parallel. A 
sudden momentary cessation of the street noises took 
place, and in that cessation Anthea heard her husband’s 
voice saying: 

“ My darling, wrap yourself up, it would be dread- 
ful if you caught cold.” 


234 


CHERRY ISLE 


She knew the voice, knew its every accent, although 
she had not heard it for several years. 

She leaned forward. 

A well-appointed car stood by hers, and, inside, the 
electric light was glowing. 

Yes, there sat her husband, well groomed, and with 
a smile upon his face, which she remembered very well, 
a smile not very often seen by her. 

By his side was a lady in evening dress, sufficiently 
young and good-looking, and in the glimpse that An- 
thea caught of her, she was pulling her opera cloak up 
about her bare throat. 

Then Anthea’s car moved on. 

Garston had leaned forward, and had pulled the 
wraps up about Julia’s throat, for there was a cold 
wind blowing up from the sea. 

The little girl was glowing with anticipation, and 
could hardly keep still — besides, daddy looked so aw- 
fully happy. 

Miss Raynes pulled her own cloak up, and watched 
the merry life about her. 

She was seated by Garston, and the child was almost 
buried in the luxurious depth of the car facing them. 

“ I’ve taken a box,” said Garston, “ and we shall be 
able to hear and see without being seen. I don’t want 
to startle my wife by my sudden appearance ; this is a 
surprise visit.” He laughed with boyish glee. 

“All right,” nodded Miss Raynes with kindly com- 
prehension, and tolerance; “ and I had better take Julia 
home as soon as her mother has finished singing? ” 

“Yes, I suppose so,” said her father reluctantly; 


CHERRY ISLE 


235 

“ she mustn’t be over excited. Anyway, I’ll let you 
know what I want.” 

He leaned forward and took his child’s hand, and 
Julia, who saw that her father was deeply moved, 
clasped it again with loving tightness. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


Gather ye rosebuds while ye may. 

Old time is still a- flying; 

And this same flower that smiles to-day, 

T o-morrow will be dying. 

— Herrick. 

Anthea’s car pulled up at the stage entrance, but 
again she was forced to wait for a few seconds as a 
crowd was sweeping past. 

And strange coincidence, and yet perhaps not so 
very strange, since Charles Garston was a world-fa- 
mous man, two men passed, and spoke of her husband. 
“ I say, did you see the great C. Garston just now? ” 
“ I thought I knew the face — and was the decentish 
lookin’ woman Mrs. G. ? ” 

“ That — not she ! ” And an unpleasant laugh fol- 
lowed. “ I came over with him, and he was travelin’ 
under an assumed name. She was booked as Miss 

Raynes, but these singin’ Johnnies ” 

And the voices trailed off into the crowd. 

Not a line of Anthea’s cold, still countenance was 
altered, not a tremble shook her nerves. She moved 
towards her allotted place with more than ordinary 
dignity, but the eyes which were learning to face the 
world for the child’s sake were once more hidden, and 
one or two acquaintances avoided her as she passed 
along the carpeted way. 


236 


CHERRY ISLE 


237 

A fierce jealousy was seething within her, a raging 
passion of scorn and anger, and mingled with it was 
an awful despair. 

Her husband was faithless, he loved some one else ; 
she had cast away a treasure, and the treasure had 
rolled in the mud and anchored itself to something un- 
utterably loathsome. 

“ How dared he ! ” that was one thought, and an- 
other rang piteously after it: 

“ How could he?” 

And she — she had been wondering if she could not 
end this tragedy, and all the time he had been finding 
consolation. 

She had been wise always to think of herself, for as 
soon as she began to let the thought of the pain of 
others seem real to her, she was wounded in this awful 
manner. 

With her customary self-control, she pushed away 
these thoughts, and concentrated all her being in the 
song before her. 

Once again she stood before the throng, once again 
their wild acclaims filled the air, and once again a 
silence fell upon the people, as her accompanist struck 
the first notes of the prelude to her song. 

From a darkened box three people watched her. 

Miss Raynes sat well to the front. 

So this tall and stately woman was her pupil’s 
mother, the woman standing so imperturbably before 
a throng of the richest, keenest and most marvelous 
people in the world ! 

Well — it was worth the sea-sickness just to see her. 


238 CHERRY ISLE 

In the shadow father and little daughter sat side by 
side. 

The child’s eyes were dangerously bright and her 
cheeks flushed ; her little hand sought her father’s. He 
held it unconsciously, for he had forgotten the child, 
and saw only the woman. 

There she stood, very tall, very still — very wonder- 
ful — the cold attractive woman whom he loved. Her 
mysterious eyes were widely opened, and she was gaz- 
ing into space. 

Anthea ! Anthea ! O, the pain of an absorbing love ! 
O, the tearing agony of a thing so fragile, coming 
from the deep to pass away into nothingness ! 

Then on the tense silence broke the great prima 
donna’s voice. 

Garston did not hear his child’s quick gasp of de- 
light, and he did not know he was holding the little 
hand with cruel tightness; he was only conscious of the 
voice. 

And as when he first heard her she had sung him 
into oblivion of material things, so did she once again. 
The voice of to-day was sweeter, grander, and much 
fuller of passion than the voice of years ago; but the 
passion was chaotic, and her husband understood her 
through her singing, as he had not been able to do 
through her personality. 

Anthea was moved, was obsessed with some passion ; 
she was singing to express a great emotion; her soul 
was flowing forth in sound. Father and daughter un- 
derstood her inarticulate cry, for the words she said 
were not the words she sang. 


CHERRY ISLE 


239 


When it was over, the theatre was filled with frantic 
applause. Garston came back again from the fairy 
land of sound, came back to hear his little daughter 
give a harsh strangulated sob — a sob that was caught 
back and hushed almost before he heard it. 

He lifted the child on to his knee, and, encircling her 
with his arms, whispered into her ear: 

“ That was mother ! Ah, Cherry Blossom, isn’t she 
wonderful ? ” 

The child looked up at him with strained eyes of 
piteous pain, and the father understood the dumb 
agony. 

The voice had revealed to the little one what she 
had lost forever, and a passion of despair passed over 
the childish brow. 

“ Shall we go home, my darling ? ” he whispered ; 
“ mother is going to sing once more.” 

Julia shook her head, and, bringing out a tiny hand- 
kerchief, valiantly wiped her eyes ; but she sat motion- 
less, and, leaning against her father, barely listened to 
the other performers. When once again Anthea’s 
wondrous voice filled the auditorium, she sat up and 
listened very gravely. 

When the notes were dying away, she quietly slipped 
down from her father’s knee and stood beside him. 
Garston, seeing that the baby was overwrought, leaned 
forward and touched Miss Raynes on the shoulder, 
and said quickly and urgently: 

“Take Julia home at once, please, Miss Raynes. 
I’m afraid this has been too much for her.” 

As he touched her on the shoulder, the light fell on 


CHERRY ISLE 


240 

his face, for he had moved forward, and Anthea, bow- 
ing, caught the movement, and she saw him. Hus- 
band’s and wife’s eyes met. 

For one long second the man’s eyes held the 
woman’s; then Anthea lowered her white lids and left 
the platform. 

Garston sank back in his seat, feeling as if he had 
received an electric shock, for he had seen scorn and 
passion, resentment and something perilously like 
hatred, in the magnetic eyes. 

He remained in his seat for a moment or two, and 
then sprang up. Calling a messenger, he sent him 
with his card in an envelope to “ Miss Argent.” But 
in a few minutes the man came back to say that Miss 
Argent had gone straight away in her car. 

Garston received the message calmly, and then made 
his way out into the air. 

Did she mean to avoid him? Or did she wish him 
to follow her ? 

Standing still, he said very emphatically: 

“ Damn!” 

He had had enough of her folly. 

He hailed a passing taxi, and drove to the hotel at 
which she was staying. 

“ Yes — Miss Argent has a suite on the first floor.” 

“ Very well, I will go up unannounced.” 

“ Pardon, but that is quite impossible.” 

“ Very well, then, I will go in as I am announced.” 

“ That also was — well, if the gentleman made such 
a point of it, and would not be denied. Thank you, 
sir, thank you.” 


CHERRY ISLE 


241 


" That is the door, sir.” 

Garston knocked, and, without waiting for the per- 
mission to enter, turned the handle and went in. 

It was a big room, furnished with luxury and taste, 
and standing under an electric shade at the further end 
of the room, was his wife. 

She had but just come in from an inner room, appar- 
ently, for the door shut softly, as if in echo to his 
entrance. 

Anthea was not facing the door, and the shutting 
of the other one buried the slight noise of his advance. 
He came quietly to within a few yards of her, and said 
very clearly: 

"Anthea!” 

She turned with a sudden start, and looked at him. 

Silence. 

And then, with no undue haste in her movements, 
no cessation of her usual dignity, she walked across 
the room, and laid her hand upon the bell. But she 
did not press it. She turned towards her husband 
with a gesture of haughty inquiry. Had he followed 
her and taken her in his arms and mastered her in 
passion, it would have been well with both of them; 
but he was very much a gentleman, and his own pride 
was once again taking fire. 

“ Stay, Anthea,” he said fiercely ; " what on earth 
do you mean by treating me like this ? ” 

Her lips were white with scorn, and her eyelids 
lowered as she said coldly: 

" How dare you come to me like this and force your 
way in?” 


CHERRY ISLE 


242 

“ Dare — I am your husband/' he retorted hotly. 

Anger flashed into her face. 

“ You — and after what I have seen to-day you dare 
to urge that plea." 

“After what you have seen," he repeated blankly. 
“ Come, Anthea, stop this raging imbecility, and ex- 
plain yourself." 

“ Explanation is quite unnecessary,” her voice was 
icy. “ I must ask you to go at once. I cannot con- 
ceive how you managed to summon up enough impu- 
dence to come here : you used at least to be a gentleman 
— in outward manners, anyway." 

It was Garstoil’s turn to become white, and wild 
with passion. 

“ Impudence ? " he repeated. “Anthea, have you 
taken leave of your senses, that you talk like this ? " 
She smiled derisively. “ I came because, like the fool 
I have been, but never will be again, I thought we 
might come to an understanding. I've had enough of 
this pseudo-husband state — and I came to hear you 
sing." Suddenly he forgot his anger. “ Oh! Anthea, 
you sing divinely ; you have made your voice an abso- 
lutely perfect thing." 

Never a flicker of feeling, never a gleam over the 
cold scornful face and the steadily lowered lids. She 
stood there, one hand stretched out still in readiness 
to press the bell, nor did his praise of her voice please 
her in the least. 

“ Indeed ? And now please go." 

She spoke almost indifferently. 

Garston came one step nearer, and rested his hand 


CHERRY ISLE 


243 


on the table. He was in evening dress, and evening 
dress always suited him particularly well. 

He spoke slowly and deliberately: 

“ By the living Lord, Anthea, this is the end as far 
as I am concerned. I will never seek you again, nor 
come even if you send for me. I never want to see 
your face again, and I curse the hour when I first met 
you.” 

Once more he waited, but she gave no sign, and he 
turned away and left her. 

Anthea stood still, her eyes fixed upon the spot 
where he had stood. Had she made a mistake, had 
her eyes and ears deceived her ? 

He did not behave as if he were guilty of any 
enormity. 

Perhaps she ought at least to — but she thought no 
further. She crossed the room quickly and opened the 
door; the long luxurious hall was empty; of course, 
she ought to have sent a message down, but she did not 
think of that. 

She came back into her room, and tried to shut the 
door, but her strength seemed suddenly to leave her, 
and it swung ajar. She sank down rather breathlessly 
on to a chair. 

She heard quick steps coming; was it Herrick re- 
turning? No, it was only her maid Annee, for a 
second after she heard her voice speaking to a waiter. 

“ Monsieur gone, Mr. Evans ? ” 

“ Yes, mademoiselle,” came the answer; “ just gone, 
in a black rage, too, by the look of him.” 

“ Monsieur is an angel,” replied Annee quickly; “ to 


CHERRY ISLE 


244 

see him with the child when we lived together in Eng- 
land was enough to show any woman that — my lady 
excepted.” 

“ Well, he didn’t look like an angel this time,” said 
Evans with a grin on his face. 

“ So my lady has been cold,” said Annee. “ I saw 
him before the singing to-night, his car came up by 
ours as we waited, and the child was there, looking like 
a little angel, and grown — oh, how she is grown — and 
Monsieur takes care of her like a mother. He wraps 
a cloak round her, nom de dieu, like any woman. I 
saw him do it as we waited.” 

“Ah, yes, and I saw them in the theatre this even- 
ing,” went on the man ; “ the child was taken home by 
the nurse — well, she sang wonderful.” 

“ She always does,” agreed Annee ; “ and she’s a 
good mistress. But the poor little thing wants a 
mother. My lady will have her here to-morrow. 
. . . But I must get my lady’s room ready. Good- 

night, Mr. Evans,” and the voices died away. 

Anthea rose to her feet, went calmly across the 
room, and sat down in a luxurious chair by the writing 
table ; when Annee, who had been with her ever since 
she had been married, came in, she found Anthea 
calmly writing a note. 

“Ah, Annee, put everything ready,” she said evenly, 
and without looking up ; “I shall be some time in 
here. You can have a few sandwiches and a glass 
of wine put on the dressing-table, and then that will 
do.” 

“Very well, madam,” answered Annee rather doubt- 


CHERRY ISLE 245 

fully ; “ but surely you are tired after your singing to- 
night?” 

“ No, only wide awake,” Anthea said gently. “An- 
nee, did you see Miss Julia with Mr. Garston? ” 

“ Yes,” said Annee eagerly, “ she was in the car just 
by ours, and she was looking like a little angel. Oh, 
madam, hasn't she grown ? ” 

“ It would be strange if she had not,” said Anthea, 
gravely ; “ and now, good-night, Annee, I’m busy.” 

And so Annee rather reluctantly withdrew. She 
was really fond of Anthea, and had an heroic admira- 
tion for the great Charles Garston, who always treated 
his dependents well. Besides, she secretly pitied him: 
“ my lady was so cold.” 

She shut the door quietly, and went. . . . 

So that, then, was the explanation ! 

It was their child, their dumb child to whom he had 
been speaking. 

In a flash with her clear quick brain Anthea under- 
stood. 

He had brought the child with him to hear her sing, 
as a peace offering. He had meant Julia to link them 
together. 

He had understood her visit to the child months ago. 

But it was too late. She had sent him away, and he 
had sworn never to come again. 

She knew that come death or life Herrick would 
keep that vow. 

Ah — she might have known that he would not have 
flaunted a strange woman in her face like that ! The 
very fact of his presence in America ought to have 


CHERRY ISLE 


246 

explained his errand. And then, for the first time, 
she acknowledged to herself that she had been mad 
with jealousy, and it had distorted all her mind. 

Jealousy because she loved him, loved him for the 
first time in all her unhappy successful .life. 

He had told her she had sung wonderfully, and 
she had not cared for his praise, and now she knew 
the reason. 

She wanted him to praise her beauty, to kiss her 
wonderful eyes, to speak of their power over him, of 
their mysterious meaning. 

What cared she for her voice ? She was no longer 
a singer — but a woman who wanted to be loved. 

But it was too late — and her pride still lived within 
her. 

She sat on in the luxurious room until the night 
grew old, and the day had dawned. 


CHAPTER XXVII 

Dull to myself. 

— Herrick. 

Austin Balturin was strolling leisurely along the 
pathway, meditating a late morning call upon Anthea. 

He had seen her husband at the concert, he had 
heard of his call on her at the hotel, and he wanted to 
see how she bore herself. 

Were the two going to become reconciled? At the 
thought a peculiar feeling of dissatisfaction made itself 
felt in his restless mind. 

If they were, he could no longer continue his re- 
search work, and he was finding it all-absorbing. A 
car drawing up by him attracted his attention, and he 
saw Garston leaning forward to speak to him. 

“ Hullo, Balturin ; you turn up like a bad penny. 
You were asking me about my daughter, let me intro- 
duce you to her. Julia, dear, this is Mr. Balturin, an 
old friend of mine and of your mother. ,, 

Balturin raised his hat, and took the little hand, 
which Julia held out to him with childish courtesy, and 
said: 

“ Miss Julia, I am delighted to see you. Where are 
you going now ? ” 

Garston spoke rather hurriedly to save an explana-* 
247 


CHERRY ISLE 


248 

tion, but Julia had smiled up into Balturin’s face so 
sweetly that he was quite charmed. 

“ We are going straight to our steamer, and we 
haven’t a minute to spare. We’re going back to Eng- 
land, you know; we came to America simply to hear 
mother sing.” 

“And did you think mother’s singing worth coming 
to hear across all that water ? ” Balturin went on. 

Julia nodded vigorously, and Balturin thought she 
was only shy, not speechless. The car passed on out 
of sight. 

Balturin walked on. Garston had looked rather 
pale, he thought. What a lovely child the little one 
was — and what idle rubbish people had talked! Of 
course, Garston’s engagements took him back to Eng- 
land, and hers kept her in America; but still it was a 
very flying visit, and surely Garston was going to give 
himself some holiday. No— the car had gone down to 
the docks, not towards the hotel. Well, he would see 
Mrs. Garston and judge from her bearing. 

But Anthea had left New York by an early morning 
train. 

He heard from a newspaper man that she had gone 
away to rest, but for the moment no one knew where. 

Balturin was baffled, but still there was quite a nice 
interesting amount of gossip to pick up that day, and 
he picked it up, sifted it out, and packed it away into 
the recesses of his mental library. 

Garston had stopped to speak to Balturin of set pur- 
pose. 

He knew that he was a centre for gossip, and if he 


CHERRY ISLE 


249 

once saw Julia in her baby beauty, the idle tales would 
be contradicted ; for, though the father had laughed at 
them, they had hurt him. It was dreadful to think of 
his little child being discussed coarsely and callously by 
a brutal minded public. 

He had hoped the little conversation would go off as 
it had done, and Balturin was evidently quite ignorant 
of his child’s affliction. 

And so on that head it was well. 

But on the other ? 

He had told Julia that they were going back again, 
and when she had asked for her mother he had taken 
her on his knees, saying lovingly: 

“ Cherry Blossom, I can’t take you to mother, and 
I can’t tell you why. You must just say to yourself: 
‘ Daddy knows best, and loves me.’ You have heard 
mother sing, and neither you nor I will ever forget it. 
And now we must go home again.” 

Julia had looked up at him, her dainty blue eyes big 
with tears, for she was still overwrought by her tre- 
mendous experience of the night before, and she had 
asked on her trembling little fingers: 

“ Doesn’t mother love me then? ” 

And Garston, for his wife’s sake and for his child’s 
sake, had lied bravely: 

“ Yes, Little Poem, I am sure she does; but mother 
is a great singer, and is not like other people.” 

His child’s eyes were lifted to his with a question: 

“ But you love me, daddy, and you are a great 
singer? ” But he kissed her, and bade her go to Miss 
Raynes. 


CHERRY ISLE 


250 

She had slipped from his lap, and had walked to- 
wards the door rather unsteadily, but she had turned 
before she reached it, and had rushed back to her 
father bursting into a passion of tears; for the stately 
wonderful singer of the night before had become a 
beauteous ideal to the little daughter, and she was filled 
with longing to see her mother again. 

Garston understood, and could give little comfort; 
perhaps he was too badly in need of it himself to try 
to find it. 

So they left the rich new country, the country with- 
out a past, but with a certain future, and went back to 
England. Charles Garston, never again Herrick, as 
he bitterly thought, arranged the future life both for 
himself and for his child as if he had no wife. 

From Anthea came no explanation, no apology for 
her reception, and after a few weeks’ rest at Cherry 
Blossom Farm, he went on his golden way of fame and 
riches. 

But he made no new engagements, for a resolve was 
crystallizing within him. 

When he had “ worked all his songs off ” he would 
leave the world of singing, and go away and live for 
his child. 

For the great tenor was weary and very sad. 

* * * * * * 

The glorious summer was over, a summer of sun- 

shine and heat, more enjoyable in the remembrance 
than in the actuality, and autumn was well on its way. 

Anthea had deliberately made her choice, her pride, 


CHERRY ISLE 


251 

her ambition being all that was left to her of the wreck 
she had made of her own life. 

October was over, and November had come, and the 
week of the two big concerts of Munro Sylvester was 
approaching. 

Anthea had agreed to sing, and in consequence these 
two concerts were to be the events of the day. She 
laid her plans with cold deliberation, a deliberation 
only possible to a despair-driven woman. 

Yet the action upon which she had determined was 
in itself perfectly legitimate and within her rights; it 
would cause no particular amazement, and only a little 
comment. It might be altogether a fiasco as regards 
its effect upon the man who certainly deserved punish- 
ment, and it depended altogether for its evil result 
upon the actions of others. 

In this way Anthea drugged her conscience. She 
knew the world, its passions and its unreasonableness, 
and upon these she counted. As it happened, every- 
thing seemed to arrange itself on her side, and un- 
doubtedly the stars in their courses fought for her. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 

Monstrous fancies shall 
Out of hell an horror call. 

— Herrick. 

It was the day after the first concert, and Anthea 
was reading the papers after breakfasting. Her face 
was pale and slightly haggard. Without one attempt 
at wire-pulling, the improbable had happened. 

There had been huge audiences, the gigantic theatre 
had been full from floor to ceiling, and, at the last 
moment, Madame Lavago, for whom the audience 
were shouting in a frenzy, had been discovered insen- 
sible in her dressing-room, and had been unable to 
appear. 

The scene in the theatre had been one of great ex- 
citement: the whole audience had been on the verge of 
riot. 

Then Munro Sylvester had come before the curtain, 
and for a few minutes it had been a “ toss-up ” as to 
whether he would be allowed to speak. If he had not 
been able to make himself heard, there was a possibility 
that the theatre would have been wrecked. 

But his was a magnetic personality, and he managed 
to make himself heard. 

252 


CHERRY ISLE 


253 

The money should be given back, or tickets issued 
for the same seats on the morrow, where possible. 
Present reserved ticket holders, if their tickets clashed 
with the holders of the seats for the second concert, 
would be apportioned seats in the unreserved portions 
of the theatre. 

Miss Argent was singing to-morrow, as they knew ; 
if possible, he would persuade her to sing several times. 
She was in the town already, and he had been talking to 
her over the telephone, and she appeared persuadable. 
He trusted to their loyalty and good sense, etc. 

It had been a bad moment for the man, for failure 
meant complete ruin; but for the moment it had been 
averted. 

This was the gist of the news provided by the papers. 
Anthea read them all. The thing was assuming bigger 
proportions than she had anticipated. 

“ Insensible ! Poor Madame Lavago ! ” 

Anthea shrugged her shoulders; she knew well 
enough that drugs were the cause, that the woman was 
fast becoming a morphinomaniac, and that in the begin- 
ning Munro Sylvester had been largely responsible for 
her yielding to the deadly enemy influence of opiates. 
No — he deserved no mercy. She thought again of 
her mother, of her own bitter soul — a direct inherit- 
ance from a tortured mother. 

She thought of her dumb child, her lost husband, all 
traceable, or so she thought in her morbid state of 
mind, to the original sin against her mother; as she 
sat there, a knock sounded at her door and a waiter 
appeared with a card, and on the card was written: 


254 


CHERRY ISLE 


Munro Sylvester. 

“Would madame see him; it was of vital impor- 
tance ? ” 

Madame thought rapidly. Yes, she would see him. 

She rose and stood by the fireplace, a tall still figure: 
not a pulse beat faster, not a line of her countenance 
moved. 

“ Mr. Munro Sylvester.” 

He came in, walking lightly for all his height and 
breadth and bulk, carried well despite his sixty and 
more years. 

A handsome man, a well-groomed man, one likely 
to meet defeat, or to inflict pain, with equal calm. 

Just for one instant Anthea lifted her eyelids and 
looked at him; in that second’s glance she knew him 
again, and she saw a strange glimpse of herself in the 
way he moved and held his head. 

But to the concert promoter she was just the proud 
autocratic professional singer, upon whom his success 
or final ruin rested. 

He bowed deeply, and Anthea slightly inclined her 
head ; but she did not ask him to sit down, and she her- 
self remained standing — waiting for him to speak. 

“ It’s good of you to see me, madam, for I know it 
is against your rules to permit me this pleasure.” 

He spoke easily and glibly, and yet with no unpleas- 
ing effect. 

Anthea moved her head again very slightly, and 
Sylvester went on smoothly: 

“ You have, of course, seen the papers, and know of 
the most unfortunate illness of Madame Lavago.” 


CHERRY ISLE 


255 


“ Yes/’ 

No more, but Anthea conveyed a certain amount of 
cold disdain into the word, and Sylvester understood 
that she knew the tragic story of poor Madame Lav- 
ago, and was probably aware of his unholy share in it. 
And then, what wave of memory was that that rose in 
his sin-packed mind ? He had heard this woman sing, 
of course, but he had not heard her speak. But he 
could not trace the memory, and he went on: 

“ It was altogether unfortunate, but if you will sing 
to-night, say, three times, the audience will be more 
than satisfied.” 

“And if not?” 

Anthea’ s cold monosyllables were not promising. 

He shrugged his shoulders. 

“ They will probably lose their tempers, and get 
completely out of hand. An audience wrought up to 
their state of excitement is quite unaccountable for its 
actions; it was touch and go last night. May I ask 
this favor ? ” 

“ Shall you be there ? ” again Anthea spoke in the 
same cold tones. 

“ Oh, yes, it is not my habit to run away from dan- 
ger; and I may tell you in confidence, madam, that a 
great deal more than appears on the surface depends 
upon the success of the concert to-night. I have 
merely called to assure myself that you will be there 

this evening. If you were to fail unexpectedly ” 

He stopped and shrugged his shoulders again. 

“ You, of course, could demand compensation from 
me,” Anthea suggested indifferently. 


CHERRY ISLE 


256 

Munro Sylvester glanced at her quickly, a strange 
feeling of apprehension in his mind. 

“ But there is no likelihood of your doing so ?. ” he 
said, quickly. 

“ I do not think I have ever failed to fulfil an en- 
gagement which it was in my power to perform.” She 
bowed again, and added: “And now, Mr. Sylvester, 
I’m busy.” 

“Again — thank you. It has been more than good 
of you to grant me this brief business interview. 
Good-morning. I may depend upon you entirely, 
then ? ” 

Once again Anthea bowed her head, this time in 
dismissal. 

Anthea left to herself was conscious of no sensation 
in particular; father and daughter had met for the 
first time, and the daughter sincerely hoped it would 
be the last. 

She was going to ruin him if she could; it had all 
worked out wonderfully well for her. 

With cold callousness, Anthea made her final deci- 
sion. She was not a woman to be turned away from 
any course she had finally decided to pursue. 

It would mean the loss of a big sum of money; but 
that was nothing to her, and she was “ safe,” because 
she could always plead a “ lost voice.” 

She followed exactly her usual course of procedure, 
as on the days when she was to sing — a little exercise, 
a short practice, a rest in the afternoon. 

She went to her room to dress rather earlier than 
usual. 


CHERRY ISLE 


257 


Her maid came in answer to the bell, and told her 
that Mr. Sylvester was at the telephone, and might he 
speak to her. 

“ No,” said Anthea carelessly; “how tiresome the 
man is ; go and see, Annee.” 

Annee came back looking rather flushed and indig- 
nant. 

“ He wants to know if you are coming for certain, 
madam. He says the theatre is overflowing; there is 
a huge queue waiting to enter, and hundreds will have 
to be turned away.” 

“And what did you say ? ” asked Anthea, quietly. 

“ I told him that you were not accustomed to being 
bothered like this, and that you always kept your 
engagements, madam. Then he asked me if I were 
your maid, and when I said yes, he offered me fifty 
pounds to hurry you up a bit, and called me ‘ my 
dear/ ” 

“ Yes, I always keep my engagements,” said Anthea 
half to herself ; “I am sorry he was rude, Annee, 
but I shall have no more to do with the man after 
this.” 

Annee went about her work still looking indignant, 
and in the course of the next half-hour her mistress 
was ready. 

Anthea was robed in a soft dull black; the whiteness 
of her flesh against its dusky folds was startling. Her 
copper-colored hair was dressed with the usual elabo- 
rate simplicity, and she wore one jewel only, a blood- 
red ruby, which rested on her corsage. 

Anthea knew the value of dramatic setting, and she 


CHERRY ISLE 


258 

was always most careful to give full value to every 
detail of her appearance. 

Annee deftly draped a soft silk cloak over the stately 
figure, and Anthea went to the door. In a few min- 
utes they were gliding through the traffic towards the 
theatre. 

The stage entrance was in another street, and Annee 
caught sight of a huge surging crowd round the doors 
of the unreserved seats. She shuddered, thinking to 
herself: “ I don’t like American crowds. Just suppos- 
ing my lady’s voice went — what would happen ? ” 

Anthea, too, had seen the crowd, but she was beyond 
caring. If her own safety were involved, so much the 
better: she was tired of all things, tired of her success, 
her powers, her life. \ 

It was the old cry over again: “ all, all is vanity.” 

Her dressing-room was comfortable enough, and 
she sat down to wait. An extraordinary feeling of 
detachment came over her ; she could hear the murmur 
of many voices, and the roar from the streets outside. 

Then Munro Sylvester came to her door. 

“ Surely it is not time yet,” she said, carelessly rising 
to her feet, and ignoring the manager’s deep bow. 

“ I have taken the liberty of transposing the order 
of the songs,” he said, speaking with a gay lightness 
in his voice ; “ the crowd is getting so impatient that 
it will really be wiser not to keep it waiting. I am 
going to announce that you sing three times, is not 
that so, madam ? ” 

Anthea spoke over her shoulder: 

“ You may announce it.” 


CHERRY ISLE 


259 

The singer walked slowly towards the stage; she 
never suffered from stage fright nowadays, and to-day 
her thoughts were busy with the past. She wondered 
at what moment it had been that her mother’s voice 
gave way, in what manner had the man, walking so 
trimly just before her, dismissed her. He would do 
it with easy cruelty and a bow. 

“ Now, madam ” 

Sylvester led her on to the stage. 

Cheer after cheer, wild and fierce; a sense of sup- 
pressed passion in the air, of electricity. 

Father and daughter — side by side they stood, but 
only the daughter in all the world knew of the relation- 
ship, and it was no part of her scheme to reveal it. 

Munro Sylvester raised his hand, and there was 
momentary silence. 

“ Ladies and gentlemen, — I need not introduce Ma- 
dame Argent to you — you know her too well for that. 
She has promised to sing to you three times — and, 
after I have told you this, I know you will forgive me 
the unavoidable misfortune of yesterday.” 

Once more shouts, cheers, stamping of feet, waving 
of hats and handkerchiefs. 

Then a complete silence, a death-like silence, for the 
tall and beautiful prima donna had, in her turn, held 
up her hand. 

There she stood, tall and beautiful, a very striking 
figure in her dusky robe of black; her eyes were 
widely open, and there was no touch of color in her 
cheeks. 

Her voice was clear and audible in the remotest 


260 


CHERRY ISLE 


corner of that packed building, but those who heard 
it said afterwards that it sounded cruel and cold, and 
cutting as sharp steel. 

“ Ladies and gentlemen, — I must beg you to excuse 
me. I shall not sing to you to-night.” 

She bowed, and was gone before any one — least of 
all Munro Sylvester — had realized her intention. 

Annee was waiting for her in the wings, and flung 
the cloak round her. In less than a minute she was in 
her car, which she had ordered to wait for her at the 
stage entrance, and was being driven away accom- 
panied by a very frightened maid. 

And in the theatre ? 

An ominous silence — to Sylvester it seemed to last 
for ages — and then the storm broke. 

The air was filled with yells and curses, shrieks of 
rage, and women’s and children’s cries of terror. 

The police, and there were many of them, saw what 
was about to happen, but they were literally powerless 
against the demons whom Anthea had let loose: the 
attendants rushed to the emergency doors and flung 
them open. 

The audience was standing. Then the air became 
thick with missiles — sticks, hats, oranges, apples. Syl- 
vester was standing alone on the stage, bowing ironic- 
ally to the yelling multitude. There was a sound of 
crashing wood, and various barricades gave way; the 
multitude seemed to sweep forward over the footlights 
and on to the stage. 

The man was down, scrambled once more to his 
feet, and would have been down again, but for a man 


CHERRY ISLE 


261 


in the habit of a monk who flung his arms round him, 
and rushed him down the wings, and, with the help of 
another man, managed to shut a door between them- 
selves and the ravening crowd. 

Their escape would not have been possible had not 
some other force come to their aid. 

From within the pandemonium arose an awful 
cry: 

“ Fire! Fire! Fire!” 

And then those who had sought to destroy now 
turned to flee. 

Who can describe such a scene, or the awful effect 
of terror seizing upon a passion-demented mob? 

Wild fighting, fearful tramplings, and out through 
the wide emergency doors hurtled the crowd, and over 
them rolled huge volumes of smoke. 

The police and the fire brigades were on the scene 
simultaneously. 

Out the crowd came, pouring from the theatre, 
strong active men using their strength to trample down 
the weaker, women forgetting to protect their chil- 
dren, young men and women forgetting to help their 
parents. 

The one and only thought in the midst of all was 
“ The open air and safety. Oh, just to get away from 
the burning hell within.” 

Flames began to shoot out from windows and door- 
ways. 

A cordon of police was drawn round the building, 
and a tremendous fight began between men and their 
eternal enemy and servant — fire. 


262 


CHERRY ISLE 


A short quick fight — and a tremendous downpour 
of rain, and the flames were beaten out. 

There were many injuries, some serious, some less 
so — but the death roll was mercifully much smaller 
than would have been thought possible — an old woman 
who died of heart failure, a young man who was 
trampled to death, and a child who had been flung over 
the stairway by one frantic parent to another. The 
child had been caught in the father’s arms, but the 
head had struck an iron support, and the child was 
dead. 

But these details were only learned later. 

In this manner Anthea Argent attained her second 
heart’s desire. 


CHAPTER XXIX 


With the sins of all my youth. 

—Herrick. 

The man in the ecclesiastical habit held the droop- 
ing figure of the elderly concert manager, and looked 
across to the other man who had come to the rescue. 
He was in evening dress, very immaculate, despite the 
last rush. 

“ We'll get him out to my rooms,” said Balturin; 
“ I know this place, and with luck we ought to be able 
to get a car.” 

Sylvester, who seemed half stunned, tried to 
straighten himself. 

The first man passed his arm round the drooping 
figure, and said: 

“ Didn’t see it was you, Balturin — you lead the way ; 
I’m strong enough to do the work here.” 

“ Right,” answered Balturin, leading the way out. 

Fortune was still with the three, for an empty taxi- 
cab was driving past. 

Sylvester was hardly able to walk, for he had been 
knocked about rather badly before he was rescued, and 
with some difficulty the two got him into the car. 

263 


CHERRY ISLE 


264 

Balturin gave the address of his rooms, and looked 
across to the man in ecclesiastical garb, saying 
easily: 

“ Thought it was a suffragette who had come to the 
rescue. Your habit looked uncommonly fetching, 
Arbuthnot.” 

“ Do you think he’s hurt ? ” said Arbuthnot, gravely. 

“ Oh, a dose of brandy will bring him round,” an- 
swered Balturin, carelessly ; “ it’s no good asking if 
you carry any with you.” 

“ I’m afraid things will be in a bad state behind us,” 
said Arbuthnot. 

Balturin shrugged his shoulders. 

“ Yes, we are well out of it. I hope Mrs. Garston 
will reach her hotel safely. She’s staying at the As- 
toria.” 

Arbuthnot did not answer, but his face grew colder 
and sterner. 

Then the car pulled up, and with the help of a porter 
they guided Sylvester’s heavy feet. In a few minutes 
they were in Balturin’s suite of rooms. 

“ A doctor,” suggested Balturin. 

“No,” said Sylvester himself, “I’m all right; give 
me a dose of brandy.” 

Balturin looked at Arbuthnot. 

“ No, I think he’s all right,” said the other gravely; 
“he’s only been knocked about a bit, and bed and 
brandy will put him straight.” 

Balturin rang for brandy, and the two younger men 
watched the elder as he sipped it slowly. 

After a few moments the dazed expression began to 


CHERRY ISLE 


265 

disappear from his face, and the tension to relax from 
his limbs. He sat back in the lounge in a more natural 
position, and when they saw this the two men turned 
away and spoke to one another in low voices. 

“ How did you manage to be there, Arbuthnot ? ” 
asked Balturin, lighting a cigarette. 

“ I am going back to England next week,” said 
Arbuthnot, “ and I was giving myself a treat before I 
leave. I have not heard Mrs. Garston since she re- 
turned to the concert platform.” 

“ You were disappointed, it seems,” said Balturin, 
sarcastically ; “ I wonder what the deuce made her 
clear out like that.” 

“ I suppose she felt ill — she could not have done it 
for any other reason,” returned Arbuthnot sternly. 

Then Sylvester spoke rather hoarsely: 

“ I believe it was a mere whim ; she was perfectly 
well a second before; her manner to me was always 
unpleasant.” 

“Ah — er — had she ” began Balturin suavely, 

for he knew the man before him. 

“ Never spoke to her except about this concert,” 
said Sylvester, bitterly, “ nor had any dealings what- 
ever with her, but she's done the trick — I am ruined.” 
And the gray shade which had lifted for a moment 
under the influence of the brandy settled down again 
on his face. 

“ As bad as that ? ” said Balturin kindly. 

“ Yes, I shall clear out to-night. Oh, I don't mean 
run away,” he added, standing up ; “ my creditors will 
know where to find me. But this will be the last show 


266 


CHERRY ISLE 


as far as I am concerned. I dare not face any more 
music. I’ve had a long rope. But I’ll make this 
woman pay.” 

“ She will, of course, pay her liabilities,” said Bal- 
turin, coldly. 

“And more too,” snarled Sylvester, fiercely. “ She 
did it to ruin me.” 

“ I think that quite unlikely,” said Arbuthnot, very 
coldly ; “ Mrs. Garston is a woman of honor.” 

“ Still she shall pay,” reiterated Sylvester, with a 
very unpleasant note in his voice. 

“ Oh, she’ll pay fast enough,” said Balturin, looking 
at the man before him. “ But you would have no case. 
You know there used to be something queer about 
Miss Argent’s voice ; it used to disappear altogether, I 
believe. I know in the past she’s had to cut her en- 
gagements. I came upon an old woman the other day 
who had seen her as a girl, and she said the voice came 
and went, and, of course, she would plead that. And 
if she felt her voice queer no one would blame her for 
not using it. This old woman said her mother was 
like it before her.” 

Sylvester staggered backwards. Ah, that was the 
memory, years of sin and license, years of callous de- 
sertions and vice rolled away ! He sat down, and took 
another pull at the brandy. 

“ I expect you’re right,” he said. “ No, I shouldn’t 
gain anything; she’ll pay her penalties, of course.” 

“And you’ll take no further action.” 

There was just a touch of threatening in Balturin’s 
voice, and Arbuthnot glanced at him quickly. 


CHERRY ISLE 


267 

“ No — I’ll be off: thank you for your kindly help,” 
and Sylvester held out his hand. 

Arbuthnot shook it gravely, but in no way warmly; 
something about this elderly man repelled him. 

Sylvester turned to offer his hand to Balturin, but 
the latter had gone to the telephone, and from ther,e 
went to the door. 

“ There’s a car for you,” he said carelessly; “ sure 
you feel all right? ” 

“ Quite, thanks.” 

Sylvester understood: he did not offer his hand 
again, and went out quite steadily. But he carried 
with him a fear which effectually bound his hands as 
regards taking action against Anthea. 

Balturin came up to the fire, and motioned to Ar- 
buthnot to sit down again. 

“ That man’s a cur,” he said rather shortly. “ I’m 
sorry, really, that we didn’t leave him to be trampled 
on. I’m not very particular, Arbuthnot, and I cer- 
tainly shouldn’t care to go to confession to you, but I 
draw the line somewhere. That man’s responsible for 
more tragedies than I should care to be.” 

“ Do you think, then, that Mrs. Garston’s action was 
premeditated ? ” asked Arbuthnot very gravely. 

Balturin laughed shortly. 

“ You’ve met Anthea the inscrutable. Who can 
say? It may have been her voice, but it sounded all 
right when she spoke. Perhaps she didn’t care to be 
associated with a man like that. I confess I was sur- 
prised to hear that she was going to sing for him.” 

“ I am thinking of the casualties that we left behind 


268 


CHERRY ISLE 


us, of the burning theatre and broken limbs,” said 
Arbuthnot; “ if it was the failure of her voice she is 

only to be pitied, of course; but otherwise ” He 

made a gesture. 

Balturin laughed. 

“ Oh, she won’t mind. She is only voice, you know. 
Really, I don’t fancy she loves any one but herself, and 
that self only as a sort of human gramophone. I 
think if any woman could bear up under the knowledge 
that she was either indirectly or directly responsible 
for various injuries to others, Mistress Anthea would 
be that woman.” 

Arbuthnot looked at him sternly, and said with cold 
severity: 

“ Mrs. Garston is a strange woman, but you would 
make her inhuman. Good-night, Balturin; I shall be 
leaving for home in a day or so.” 

Balturin looked at him with one of his keen glances. 

“ Going to stick to the habit? ” he asked, carelessly. 

“ I don’t know,” the clergyman answered, rather 
absently. 

Balturin watched him for a moment, and then said: 

“ I met an old friend of yours the other day, Mrs. 
de Thuson. She used to be Alys Mayder, you know ; 
she’s a widow now, and is at home again with Sir 
Lewis.” 

“ And how is Sir Lewis ? ” asked Arbuthnot. 

“ Oh, more powerful than ever ; he’s sure of his 
peerage this time, and really he uses his influence very 
wisely.” 

Arbuthnot said good-night, and went. 


CHERRY ISLE 


269 


Balturin, left to himself, was rather thoughtful. 

“ He ought to chuck that habit,” he said to himself, 
“ and marry Alys and be made a bishop. He would 
do heaps more good than gallivanting about in a cas- 
sock. I hope I’ve done him a good turn by suggesting 
it to him ; for, of course, he understood.” 


CHAPTER XXX 


Pale care , avaunt! 

— Herrick. 

The Rev. Cecil Arbuthnot walked rather slowly 
through the crowded streets, thinking deeply. 

More than ten years had passed since his brief woo- 
ing of Anthea had taken place, and he, good Christian 
gentleman as he was, had never quite forgiven her. 

He could have forgiven her refusal, but he always 
felt sore at the thought that Anthea had allowed him 
to propose to her when she was actually married. It 
had not been Anthea's fault, but he had forgotten this, 
and only remembered the soreness. He had led a busy 
and most self-denying existence, but he was feeling 
the restrictions of this life. He had begun to think 
that his “ habit ” fettered his usefulness, and that at 
the end of the seven years he would not renew his 
vow. 

Some strange remnant of a very sincere love for 
Anthea had driven him from the world, and that rem- 
nant had been with him ever since he had left her. 
Because of this, his wrath against her seemingly wan- 
ton action was gathering strength. 

All his instincts told him that nothing had ailed her; 

270 


CHERRY ISLE 


271 


just for a whim this tragedy had happened. Sylvester 
probably deserved to be ruined, but still, who was An- 
thea to ruin him? And then very likely many injuries 
had been done. 

Because of Anthea he had given up all hope of riches 
and honor in the world, and quite unconsciously he put 
this in the balance against her. 

Pah — how noisy the streets were! He turned into 
a quiet one, in which at the moment there were no 
pedestrians. 

Two figures appeared at the end of the block — a 
man and a woman ; the woman was carrying the figure 
of a sleeping child. The man spoke urgently, and 
Arbuthnot heard the words: 

“ Let me carry Sibbie, she’s too heavy for you.” 

“ No, no, John,” the woman said, and her voice was 
strangely still ; “ you might wake her, and she ought 
to sleep. Besides, we’re nearly home now.” 

Arbuthnot recognized the couple now; he was a 
clerk in a dry-goods store, and was a respectable, hard- 
working young fellow, extremely proud of his little 
home, his young pretty wife, and their only child, a 
little girl of five. Arbuthnot waited for them to ap- 
proach to wish them good-night. 

The man spoke again: “ Effie, Effie, can't you under- 
stand ? Didn’t you hear what the doctor said ? ” 

His wife held the sleeping child nearer, and an- 
swered : 

“ Hurry, John. Sibbie sleeps so soundly, and she’s 
getting cold, poor child. It was too bad for her to be 
disappointed. Sibbie, little one. ,, ■ 


272 CHERRY ISLE 

She kissed the cold face, standing still to do so, and 
said: 

“ Oh, John, she’s cold, and I’ve lost my wrap.” 

The man stood still, and Arbuthnot saw him fling 
his hands out with a piteous gesture. Thinking there 
was something badly wrong, he strode up to the couple, 
and asked: 

“ Bowers, what is wrong? ” 

“ Oh ! ” a gasp of relief came into the poor fellow’s 
shaking voice; “oh, it’s you, Father Cecil, can’t you 
see ? ” And he broke down utterly. 

Mrs. Bowers gave him a curious glance of inlpa- 
tience : 

“ John, you’ll wake Sibbie, and I want to get her in 
bed first. Father Cecil, you go first and help John; we 
were in the theatre, you know, and he’s a bit upset. 
Sibbie might have been hurt, but she’s only asleep.” 

“ Shall I fetch a doctor? ” asked Arbuthnot. 

“ No, no,” and the mother’s voice suddenly shrilled 
out wildly. “ Go up first.” 

They were just by their own dwelling, and Arbuth- 
not went in first. 

Three rooms were their home, but three rooms fur- 
nished with simple pride and care. 

The wife pushed past Arbuthnot at the door, and 
hurried into the bedroom with the child. 

“ I’ll put her to bed quick,” she said ; “ she’ll be 
warm between the blankets.” 

“ Go and help,” said the priest to the somewhat 
weak-looking young man. “She must not be left 
alone ; I will speak to her presently.” 


CHERRY ISLE 


273 

The two went in, but in a little while the mother 
came back, still holding the child, and crouched down 
before the gas stove, muttering to herself: 

“ Sibbie’s cold ; so cold, but sleeping.” 

“ Mrs. Bowers,” said Arbuthnot suddenly, “ let 
Sibbie sleep on this settee, while you make me a cup 
of tea.” 

Mrs. Bowers gave a scared look round the room, at 
her husband sitting in a chair, his face hidden in his 
hands, at the powerful strong-looking priest looking 
down at her with very pitiful eyes, and she yielded. 

She placed the still child on the settee, covered her 
with rugs, shaded the little face from the glare of 
the gas, and in a desultory fashion set about making 
tda. 

John Bowers looked up appealingly into Arbuthnot's 
pale face. 

“ Tell her, sir,” he gasped, “ doctor said she must 
be made to understand, or she'd go mad.” 

Arbuthnot was a man of wide experience, and he 
saw that the advice was right. 

She must be made to understand, and, if possible, to 
weep. 

He went up to Mrs. Bowers, and, taking her hard 
toil-stained hands in his, compelled her to look up at 
him. He laid aside his doctrinal correctness, his eccle- 
siastical dogma, and his orderly theology, and spoke 
to her according to her hymn book faith and picture 
post-card belief — poor soul! 

“Effie, listen to me: you and John took Sibbie to 
hear the great singer to-night.” 


CHERRY ISLE 


274 

Effie’s eyes wandered from his face to the figure of 
her child, and then back again. 

“Yes,” she muttered; “ Sibbie loves singing and 
music, and it was her birthday treat. Sibbie’s five to- 
day.” 

“ Effie,” the priest’s voice was tenderly solemn, 
“ Sibbie did not hear the singer to-night here, but she 
now hears greater, lovelier music than she ever 
dreamed of, for Sibbie is an angel. God wanted her 
to hear His music forevermore.” 

Effie pulled his hands away, staggered over to the 
settee, fell upon her knees by the child, and pushed 
away the coverings. 

She drew her to her bosom, rocking her in anguish ; 
but no tremble of the eyelids answered to the mother’s 
wild appeal. 

“ Sibbie, Sibbie, it’s mother calling.” 

Then she uttered a wild cry. 

“John, John, come to me. Sibbie is dead, dead, 
dead!” 

The husband’s arms were round her, and there came 
a deep sob of anguish ; together the young couple wept 
over their dead child. 

The Rev. Cecil Arbuthnot left the room quietly, 
hailed a taxi as soon as he reached the street, and 
gave the address of the hotel at which Anthea was 
staying. 

For her soul’s salvation, if she had done this on pur- 
pose, she must see the wreck her action had brought 
upon two innocent people. 

It was a very stern unyielding judge who had al- 


CHERRY ISLE 275 

ready condemned who sought the great singer that 
night. 

Ten o’clock — the hour struck out in little silver bells. 

The big room was dimly lighted, and the coal fire 
glowed a red-hot mass of heat. 

Anthea sat very still before it, as she had sat since 
she had returned from the theatre. She had flung off 
her cloak, and given orders that she should be undis- 
turbed. 

Then she rested very quietly in the ultra luxurious 
chair. Her head leaned against the dull blue cushions, 
her wonderful eyes looked straight into the glowing 
heart of the fire, and her long white hands were folded 
on her knees. 

As the clock struck, the ten little bells echoed 
through the big room, and Anthea shifted her position 
slightly. 

Her object was attained: her father was a ruined 
man — perhaps physically injured, for Anthea’s quick 
ears had caught the rising of the howl of anger as she 
passed from the theatre. 

What had happened? 

She could have found out at once, for all the modern 
means of communication were within the room, but 
within that still, quiet, apparently heedless figure a 
great and awful dread was growing. 

What had happened ? 

Yes — her second ambition was attained. 

Ah, she might have known, she might have known. 
Her first attainment had been bitter to the taste, and 
what was this — what was this ? 


CHERRY ISLE 


276 

What had happened f 

No — she dare not inquire. Supposing some one had 
been injured, some one of the huge crowd who had 
come to worship her. 

Had she only sat there for one hour? Or was it 
one whole eternity ? 

No, she would not go to her room. 

She would wait: perhaps one of her many acquaint- 
ances would come; perhaps Balturin, the only one of 
the world who approached the realm of friendship. 
Anthea had no women friends; she might have had 
lovers of both sexes by the score; but she would not 
have them, and she was now alone. 

What had she done ? 

She had unlocked the flood gates — and to what 
height had the waters risen? 

*******. 

The tall priest in the monk's habit demanded to see 
Mrs. Garston. 

Mrs. Garston was invisible, but he could see her 
maid. 

He must see Mrs. Garston: it was a matter of life 
and death. 

Then his name was taken in to the woman sitting in 
silence before the fire. 

“Yes, she would see him if it were a matter of 
great importance.” 

A few minutes later the tall severe figure in the 
mediaeval garb stood at the door, and was an- 
nounced. 


CHERRY ISLE 


277 


" The Rev. Cecil Arbuthnot. ,, 

Anthea rose slowly to her feet, and stood as he came 
across the room towards her. 

She was so perfectly calm, so absolutely self- 
possessed that Arbuthnot felt for one second at a loss ; 
then the memory of the scene which he had just wit- 
nessed came back again, and he stood before her, but, 
refusing the hand she held out, bowed with rigid 
severity. 

Anthea gave him one fleeting glance. 

He had grown older, was much sterner, much more 
powerful looking, but otherwise the same very good 
man that he had always been. 

“ How do you do ? ” she said calmly ; “ what can I 
do for you ? ” 

“ I have come to see you upon a matter of life and 
death,” he answered. 

A sudden terror passed over Anthea’s face. 

“ No,” he said, answering the unspoken question, 
“ it is not a personal matter in the sense of being con- 
cerned with your own people.” 

Anthea stepped back, and looked at him in some 
surprise. 

“ Please explain,” she commanded, coldly. 

“And yet it is a matter of life and death.” 

The priest’s voice was full of authority, and he came 
a step nearer. 

" Listen and answer. Why did you not sing to- 
night ? ” 

His voice of stern command brought back the name- 
less terrors that had been hovering about her soul for 


278 CHERRY ISLE 

the last hour, and, looking full at him, she said breath- 
less: 

“ What has happened ? ” 

“This has happened.” He stood before her as a 
judge. “ The theatre is burnt down, and many are in- 
jured. The manager — whom I and Balturin by good 
luck were able to save from being kicked to death — is 
ruined. How many are dead, I do not know; no 
figures are available yet — but at least one home is 
desolate. Why did you not sing ? ” 

Anthea had never moved; she was looking up at 
him with strange wild eyes. 

“ I did not choose to sing. I acted deliberately.” 

Arbuthnot leaned forward, and put a heavy hand 
upon her shoulder. 

“ You may have reasons behind your words. You 
have not lied to me. I said it was a matter of life and 
death, and the life is the life of your soul. You must 
come with me to see your handiwork.” 

Some strange power in the man, some unseen force 
— some influence emanating from the struggle that was 
being fought out between the emissaries of good and 
evil in her soul — was upon Anthea. 

She lifted her cloak from the chair on to which she 
had flung it an hour or so ago, and said quietly: 

“ Very well, I will come.” 

They two went out together. 

As they waited in the hall for a taxi, one or two 
interested glances were cast at them. 

Already the story of the night’s disaster was spread- 
ing like wildfire over the city. 


CHERRY ISLE 


279 


In silence the strange ill-assorted couple, who had 
met again so unexpectedly, were whirled through the 
streets. 

Arbuthnot told himself that this woman must see 
her victim, her soul must be roused from its callous 
state. It was his duty to chastise the dumb conscience 
into life, to torture it into activity. 

Neither spoke. 

Anthea sat with the cloak around her, held very 
closely so, her eyes looking straight before her, her 
head slightly leaning back against the cushions. 

And so they reached the block which Arbuthnot had 
left a little while before. 


CHAPTER XXXI 


In the hour of my distress , 

When temptations me oppress, 

And when I my sins confess. 

Sweet spirit, comfort me! 

—Herrick. 

Up the steep stairway walked the man in monkish 
garb, and after him came the prima donna, stepping 
noiselessly in her satin slippers. 

At the door of the little home the man paused, 
knocked, and, turning the handle, went in without 
waiting for an invitation. Anthea followed. 

Everything was much as he had left it half an hour 
before, excepting that the father was sitting on a chair 
by the little table, on which the supper had been laid 
out so gaily by the young wife and mother before 
setting forth for the concert. 

His head was resting on his arms, and his shoulders 
gave an occasional heave ; otherwise he was quite still. 

By the settee the mother crouched. Her tears were 
dry, and she was rocking herself slightly to and fro. 
She held one little hand of the child in hers, and every 
now and then she kissed it. 

Neither turned at the gentle opening and shutting 
of the door ; perhaps they did not hear it. The priest 
stood aside, and Anthea came a few steps forward, 
and stood by the table, opposite to the father. 

280 


CHERRY ISLE 


281 


She stood with the cloak falling from her shoulders, 
one long-fingered hand resting lightly on the table. 

Arbuthnot crossed the room, and took his place by 
the settee. 

Anthea’ s eyes, very widely open, looked round the 
room. 

She saw the father, she saw the mother — and then 
she saw the still figure of the child. 

Sibbie was a pretty child; her hair was a warm 
chestnut brown, and grew in little ringlets round the 
face. There was a haunting likeness to her own child 
Julia, or so Anthea for a moment fancied. 

Arbuthnot stood looking at Anthea, waiting for 
some sign from her; there was no ruth in his gaze. 

He was very stern, and he was condemning both sin 
and sinner. 

Anthea gazed at the child ; and then she slowly lifted 
her eyes, and met the sternness and condemnation in 
the face of her accuser. 

Her face remained unchanged; the slight habitual 
color had deserted it as she had mounted the stairs, 
but into the strange eyes there sprang a look which 
never left them, for, as she met Arbuthnot’s gaze — in 
that moment Anthea tasted the bitterness of hell-fire — 
she saw what she had done. 

And this is why the flames of hell are everlasting, 
for the taste of the fruit of the tree of the knowledge 
of good and evil is never forgotten. 

She did not speak nor move, but her eyes went to the 
face of the dead child, and the silence in the room re- 
mained unbroken. 


282 


CHERRY ISLE 


Then the poor young father looked up, and saw 
Anthea and Arbuthnot. 

Shaking all over, he stood up, but he did not wonder 
at her presence, he was too dulled with pain to wonder ; 
but he stumbled over to his wife and touched her. 

“ Effie, here’s the singer come to help us.” 

Effie turned her head, saw Anthea, and sprang to 
her feet, standing at bay before her child. 

Arbuthnot spoke in grave and measured tones. 

“Miss Argent has come to help you: she knows 
she is the unhappy cause, however unintentionally, of 
your great loss, and I have brought her with me.” 

Effie was a commonplace little woman enough in 
every-day life, but now she was a fierce mother crea- 
ture bereft of her young. 

She spoke hoarsely and sullenly. 

“ We don’t want her; what’s the use of her coming 
here? Sibbie would have liked to see her, but Sib- 
bie’s ” Effie stopped abruptly. 

The father wound his arm round his wife, and said 
brokenly : 

“ The child was set on you, miss : that’s what Effie 
means.” 

Still Anthea did not speak, for she could not. 

Then Effie spoke again, fiercely, half-demented as 
she was. 

“ There’s one thing you can do ; she can’t hear you, 
but perhaps she is not so far away yet. You didn’t 
sing, and she was killed; now sing to her here, and 
perhaps she’ll come back again for a minute. She’ll 
have her wish anyway, my little Sibbie.” 


CHERRY ISLE 283 

She made a fierce movement of command towards 
Anthea, and then fell on her knees by the child, and 
clasped her still form in her arms. 

“ Sibbie, Sibbie, come back and listen. She’ll sing 
now, if she wouldn’t then.” 

She turned again to Anthea with a gesture of pas- 
sionate anguish. 

Anthea came slowly from the table where she had 
been standing, walked very steadily to the settee, and 
stood for a moment on the other side, looking down at 
the kneeling mother and the still cold child. 

Then she knelt down and began to sing. 

None but Anthea with her command over herself 
could have done this — but none but Anthea knew what 
it cost her. 

Hours of physical torture would have been easier to 
bear ; it would have been far less difficult to have faced 
the angry mob herself, but she gave no outward sign, 
and her voice, glorious as an angel’s, pure yet pas- 
sionate, sounded in that silent chamber of death: 

Sorrow and care may meet , 

The tempest cloud may low’r, 

The surge of sin may beat 
Upon earth* s troubled shore. 

God doth His own in safety keep , 

He giveth His beloved sleep. 

The din of war may roll 
With all her raging flight; 

Grief may oppress the soul, 

Throughout the weary night. 

God doth His own in safety keep. 

He giveth His beloved sleep. 


284 


CHERRY ISLE 


In childhood's winsome page , 

In manhood's joyous bloom, 

In feebleness and age, 

In death's dark gathering gloom, 

God doth His own in safety keep, 

He giveth His beloved sleep. 

Effie stumbled to her feet, and staggered towards 
her husband, for she was beginning to think of him, 
poor child. 

He clasped her to him with tender love, the tears 
raining down his cheeks; Effie began to cry again, 
softly and sadly and very bitterly, but no longer with 
wild passion. 

The balance had gone down on the side of sanity for 
the bereaved mother. 

The Rev. Cecil Arbuthnot still stood with folded 
arms, but the stern and merciless judge had gone, and 
his eyes were dreamy with memory and tender with 
the unutterable beauty of the kneeling singer's voice. 

Silence — but the air seemed full of melody, waves 
of sound fell in divine cadence one after another. 

The child was dead: not all her singing, not all her 
genius could call back again the young soul which by 
her action she had sent forth on its eternal journey. 

Anthea never moved, the cold still features never 
altered ; she was almost as motionless as the child upon 
whose sleeping countenance her strange eyes were 
looking. 

Then once more she sang — and the sadness, though 
still pulsing through the death chamber, was caught 
up and transformed into a paean of glorious triumph: 


CHERRY ISLE 


285 

I know that my Redeemer liveth, 

And that He shall stand at the latter day 
upon the earth, 

And tho’ worms destroy the body, 

Yet in my flesh shall I see God . 

For now is Christ risen from the dead, 

The first-fruits of them that sleep . 

Once again silence. 

Anthea had reached the limit of her endurance. 
She rose to her feet, and, moving across the room, 
took up her cloak which she had let fall to the ground, 
and went to the door. 

She had spoken no word, and the parents did not 
hear Arbuthnot shut the door gently upon himself; 
but her singing seemed to remain as something actually 
tangible in the room, and the memory of her voice and 
of her wonderful presence was a perpetual delight to 
the humble couple. 

Long afterwards, when time had healed their 
wound, and Sibbie had a whole stream of little brothers 
and sisters, Effie and her husband would tell the story 
of the great prima donna’s gracious visit, for in this 
light they looked upon her sudden advent into the 
room where their child lay dead. 


CHAPTER XXXII 


When the judgment is revealed , 

And that opened which was sealed, 

When to Thee I have appealed. 

Sweet Spirit, comfort me! 

—Herrick. 

Anthea went down the steep stairway, followed by 
Arbuthnot. At the foot of the stairs she turned. 

“ Will you tell the man to drive past the theatre, 
please ? ” she asked. 

“ Mrs. Garston, may I not ask you to drive home ? ” 
Arbuthnot asked earnestly. He was wondering within 
himself. 

Had he been too merciless? Had not his judgment 
been premature, and was it not tinged with his old 
bitterness, the slight touch of jealous injury of which 
he had never quite rid himself? 

“ No,” Anthea’s voice trembled slightly; “no, I wish 
to know the extent of the damage I have done.” 

“ You can never do that.” 

Once again he was the stern priest. 

“ Please tell him,” Anthea repeated, stepping wearily 
into the taxi. 

The night was chill, and a little fog was creeping up 
from the sea; but the singer, usually so solicitous of 
her voice, was now quite careless of any possible risks. 

286 


CHERRY ISLE 


287 

Arbuthnot gave the desired directions, and in about 
fifteen minutes the taxi had drawn up outside the 
ruined theatre. 

A policeman came forward, and Anthea, pulling her 
cloak well about her face, asked : 

“ Can you tell me the extent of the damage done 
to-night, officer ? ” 

“ Well, ma'am, the theatre's done for, and pots of 
money gone; they say that Mr. Sylvester will be 
ruined.” 

Anthea made a gesture of impatience, and said: 

“ No, I mean who was hurt? ” 

“A good many minor injuries, ma'am, but only three 
killed — a man, a woman and a child. The woman, 
they say, had been a bad lot.” 

“ Thank you.” Anthea sank back in the car, and 
said to Arbuthnot: 

“ Please tell him to drive to the hotel. I have heard 
enough.” 

Again Arbuthnot did as he was desired, but now 
he was watching his companion anxiously. 

She was leaning back, a strangely lovely figure in 
her dusky evening gown of black. 

The clocks were striking midnight as the taxi drew 
up outside the hotel. 

“ Come in, please,” said Anthea over her shoulder, 
as she passed through the doorway; “ come in, I have 
something to say to you.” 

Once more Arbuthnot obeyed, and again found him- 
self in the luxurious room. 

She turned to him, her voice very weary and bitter: 


288 


CHERRY ISLE 


“Well, are you satisfied? You have dragged me 
over the red hot bars of my sin ; is that enough ? ” 

Arbuthnot answered gently: 

“ I did it for your soul’s sake. The price of sin is 
always a heavy one, thank God.” 

Anthea smiled rather strangely: 

“ You do not ask me if I have any plea to urge, any 
excuse to make.” 

“You could have none to cover it,” he answered 
gravely; “ health alone would excuse you.” 

“And you think it was just a whim ? ” she asked, 
resting her hand on the back of a chair. 

“ I fear so.” 

“ I must leave it so, then.” Anthea’s voice trembled 
once more, and then hardened. “ I do not regret the 
trouble I brought on the man Sylvester ; it is ” 

She did not finish. 

“ You had no right to arrogate to yourself God’s 
attribute of vengeance,” the priest said sternly ; “ if 
he has done wrong, you have done greater.” 

“Have I? Now, Mr. Arbuthnot, good-night — 
judge me harshly, for I deserve it.” 

She flung her hands out with a wide gesture of 
misery, and then sank down in a chair. 

Arbuthnot, his work over, left her. He had brought 
her face to face with her sin, as no other man would 
have had the strength to do, for she was one of those 
who by reason of their beauty are not condemned of 
man or woman. 

But Arbuthnot’s conscience was not altogether 
easy. 


CHERRY ISLE 


289 

He was too good a man to feel quite satisfied; but 
of one thing he was certain. The old love was abso- 
lutely dead; he had felt no stirring of that past emo- 
tion. 

When, some months later, he decided not to renew 
his vows of celibacy, his conscience was quite at ease. 

And he made a very good husband to Alys de 
Thuson, the widowed and very wealthy woman who 
had once been Alys Mayder. 

They were very happy, and although Sir Lewis con- 
sidered that he ought to have Arbuthnot’s influence on 
his side, Arbuthnot thought otherwise, and always 
stood unflinchingly for what he knew was right and 
true. 

And so good-bye to the man who passed into 
Anthea’s life again, and then out of it forever, for as 
it happened they never met afterwards, although each 
heard of the other as public personages, in the years 
that followed. 

Anthea recovered herself almost immediately, and 
when her maid, a very sleepy one, came to her, she 
was her ordinary cold calm self externally. In a very 
little while Annee was dismissed. Anthea had exer- 
cised her self-control almost to breaking point: Annee’s 
every movement had been like the touch of a clumsy 
hand upon a raw wound, every ministration — and the 
maid was very deft-handed — caused Anthea to shrink 
away, as from burning metal. But the maid did not 
perceive this: she was worried. 

“ I will brush my own hair to-night/’ Anthea said: 
“ it is late, and you are tired.” 


290 


CHERRY ISLE 


“ So must you be, madame,” answered Annee, 
quickly. 

“ Too tired to sleep, I’m afraid,” and Anthea gave 
a restless movement. “ Please see that there is a good 
fire in my room, and put the lounge chair under the 
small light. I shall read for a little while.” 

“ Very well, madame.” And Annee went. 

Anthea, utterly exhausted, finished unrobing very 
slowly, turned the lights out in her dressing room, and 
came with bare feet, velvet shod, into her own room. 

Very luxurious, very rich in comfort, a hot fire 
burning, curtained windows, inviting bed, and absolute 
silence. 

The prima donna walked across the room, carrying 
her brush and comb. 

She wore a long pale purple dressing gown, and 
from beneath its folds the white silk nightdress 
gleamed. Her hair was loosened and hung down to 
below her waist ; its rich lustre caught the gleam of the 
subdued light, and added to the picturesque effect of 
the woman’s appearance. 

She sat down in the low chair and, leaning slightly 
forward, gazed into the fire. 

Its rising and falling light shone on the pale face 
and the strange eyes. 

The brown eye and the blue — double sign of a 
double nature — the woman’s in contradistinction to 
the artist’s was awake, never to sleep again. 

Ah — that sleeping child to whose deafened ears she 
had sung; the still cold hands inert forever, and the 
lips which should have been laughing, silent! 


CHERRY ISLE 


291 


She knew what she had done. She had gone her 
way, and then the Angel of the Lord had stood before 
her, and by the gleam thrown by his fiery sword she 
had seen light; the light had shown her herself as 
truly guilty of bloodshed as any passion-driven wretch 
shuddering before the punishment of death. 

An old life, a strong life and a young life gone — 
blasted out of the flesh by her agency. She had not 
meant this thing — but she had done it. . . . 

Oh, that she had left Sylvester to the hands of the 
Lord. 

It would have been enough, for now she saw that the 
uttermost parts of the sea were no protection — that a 
day of reckoning must come, and that even as she had 
been brought face to face with her soul, so also in 
God's good time would he have been. But Sylvester 
rested lightly on her mind in comparison with the other 
side of the tragedy; all he suffered was as nothing 
compared to the suffering he had inflicted; moreover, 
her mind had been set in one mould for so long that it 
was impossible to recast it. 

He was a reptile, and the sooner he was deprived of 
all means of stinging the better. Anthea was still very 
clearly visioned, and it was not this at which she was 
staring aghast. 

The child, the little child — with its strange haunting 
likeness to her own. 

“ Oh, Julia — child of my husband's love and pas- 
sion, supposing it had been you, dumb little one, 
bearer of the burden of your mother's sins and weak- 
ness ! " 


CHERRY ISLE 


292 

She leaned back, and laid her long hands upon the 
arms of the chair. 

Little child of hers, little blossom of the cherry trees, 
which had bloomed into her life: how could she ever 
hope now to hold her to her bosom, where forever lay 
the cold still figure of the dead child ? 

Anthea’ s soul rose upwards in passionate and voice- 
less prayer, for the first time in her life: 

“ Deliver me from bloodguiltiness, O Lord.” 

But the stain of blood sinks deeply. 

And then Anthea turned her mental vision forward 
to the morrow. 

A lie to the world was her only course. She would 
plead “voice failure,” and would, of course, pay the 
penalty; but, oh! the sickening talk, the hideous head- 
lines, the reporters, the critics, the snapshots ! The in- 
terview with her business manager ! The whole dreary 
prospect of notoriety! The possible appearance at in- 
quests ! She shuddered at the prospect. 

There was no one to whom she might turn, for she 
had sent her husband away. He at least would judge 
her mercifully. 

Then Anthea’s whole being turned towards her hus- 
band; it had been long in coming, the true woman’s 
love ; but now she knew it was worth more than all the 
world to her. 

One by one the tears gathered in the strange at- 
tractive eyes, and fell heavily down the pale face. 

And Anthea finally, although only within her soul, 
laid down all her weapons and knew herself — a 
woman. 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


He who plucks the sweets shall prove 
Many thorns to he in love. 

— Herrick. 

Anthea had dismissed her business manager; the 
interview had been difficult and the manager was an- 
noyed. The morning had brought with it more than 
the anticipated troubles — the papers were simply dread- 
ful — and a double line of officials was waiting for ad- 
mittance in the hall. She refused to see any one, pass- 
ing the day in her room. 

On the following morning, the officials and news- 
paper men again called at the hotel. 

She looked tired, but otherwise there was no differ- 
ence in her ordinary cold calm manner. There was no 
indication of the deep waters which had risen and still 
threatened to drown her soul. She was just giving 
directions as to the next interview, when a card was 
brought to her, and she read beneath Austin Baburin’ s 
name: “ Let me see you at once, please.” 

The first sign of a friend. Yes, she would see him. 

Balturin came in almost immediately. 

“How are you this morning?” he asked, kindly, 
after a rather formal greeting. 

“ Tired,” answered Anthea briefly. 

“ I came to ask after your voice.”' 

2 93 


CHERRY ISLE 


294 

A tiny tinge of color crept into Anthea’ s pale cheeks. 

Oh, these wearisome reiterations of the essential lie ! 

“ My voice is perfectly normal this morning,” she 
answered, quietly. 

“And as it was not the night before last ? ” said Bal- 
turin, thrusting his hands into his pockets, and looking 
at her very closely. 

“ There could be no other reason for my refusing 
to sin g,” Anthea answered, evasively. 

“ No,” he said, quickly. “ I understand, and what- 
ever I think I shall ask no more questions, for what is 
the good of being a friend if one may not be silent ? ” 

“ Thank you,” Anthea’ s voice was gentle now. 

“ I’ve come to help you.” Balturin was not quite 
so smoothly the man of the world as usual. “If you 
will allow me, I will do for you what Garston would 
do if he were here, answer all questions and arrange 
things where your manager cannot. I can see those 
officials down-stairs, if you will accredit me, and spare 
you much.” 

“ Thank you, you are very good.” 

She sat down rather suddenly, and leaned her head 
upon her hand. 

“ It was your voice, then ? I’m sorry to bother 
you, but I must be quite clear.” He moved about the 
room, his hands still deep in his pockets. 

“ Yes, it was my voice,” Anthea repeated, dully. 

“ Very well. By the way, Mrs. Garston,” Balturin 
was dreadfully nervous; “ I’ve seen Sylvester, and he’s 
leaving for the Argentine in a little while. I believe 
he runs a lucrative business of sorts there, and you’ll 


CHERRY ISLE 


295 


hear no more of him. Let me say that had you re- 
fused to sing for him it would have been no more than 
he deserved, for he is one of the most loathsome ” 

“ No,” interrupted Anthea, gravely. “ His down- 
fall does not upset me in any way; it is ” She 

stopped suddenly, and a long shudder passed over her. 

“ I have heard the extent of the damage done the 
other night,” she said slowly, and then, before she 
could control them, two tears suddenly rolled down 
her cheeks, and a little sob, suppressed as quickly as 
it had come, broke from her lips. 

It affected Balturin strangely: he gave her a very 
queer look; the study of humanity was a dangerous 
game. 

“ Forgive me,” Anthea spoke quite simply ; “ I have 

had a bad night, and I know ” Her voice broke 

off again. 

He crossed the room, and stood before her rather 
awkwardly. 

He spoke abruptly, and quite unconsciously used 
her Christian name for the first time. 

“ See here, Anthea, I'm not a good fellow, or a 
trained Christian like Arbuthnot, and I knozv he gave 
it you hot. But whatever was the real reason for your 
not singing, you couldn't know for certain that all — all 
this would happen. You might have thought it was a 
bit too much like playing with fire, but until you've 
seen the flames burst through a roof you can't know 
what it's like. It all went further than you meant, I 
mean than would have been thought likely. Take up 
the bits, patch ’em together, and go on again. If 


296 CHERRY ISLE 

Arbuthnot won’t forgive you, and he’s a type I know, 
the Lord will.” 

“ It isn’t that,” she said quite humbly, “ it isn’t 
that: I don’t care what Mr. Arbuthnot thinks. Oh, it 
is not that, but I have killed a child ! ” 

She turned away in her chair as she said this, and 
shielded her face from his view. 

He was standing just before her and looking down 
at her with a very queer sensation in his brain. He 
wheeled away, however, and once more walked across 
the room, saying to himself: 

“ Good Lord, she’s a woman after all — and not only 
a voice.” 

A knock at the door, and Annee came in bearing a 
Marconigram. 

Anthea opened it rather absently, and from the 
other side of the room Balturin watched her. He saw 
a rich color suddenly flush into her cheeks, he saw the 
eyes suddenly glow and almost melt. She pulled a 
piece of paper towards her, and began to write rapidly. 

Balturin was suddenly aware of a sharp pain some- 
where — a real pain, not by any means an imaginary 
one, although it was purely mental. 

“ Damn! ” he said to himself, and then once again, 
“ Damn!” 

Annee waited to receive the message. 

Anthea wrote, and then crossed it out, and took 
another piece of paper. The color came and went in 
strange fashion in her pale cheeks. 

“ There, Annee, take that, please,” she ordered 
quietly, and then she looked across at Balturin. 


CHERRY ISLE 


297 

Anthea was a woman of the world, and an impulse 
founded on a sudden intuition prompted her to hold 
out the Marconigram which she had just received, to 
Balturin. 

“ From my husband,” she said gravely. 

He came forward, and took it from her rather 
roughly, and read: 

“Am with you in spirit — lift up your heart. — C. G.” 

“ That explains it,” he said to himself, “ she does 
love her husband after all.” 

Out loud he said gravely: “ Yes, the English papers 
this morning will worry Garston. And now, Mrs. 
Garston, I will see all these fellows for you, and you 
rest.” 

“ Thank you, if you will be so good,” said Anthea 
wearily. 

He went away, and did even more than he had 
offered, for without him Anthea would have fared 
badly. As it was, it was a seven days’ wonder, and 
Anthea paid heavily in many ways. 

When everything was settled Balturin called again. 

He found her quiet, but he did not care for the look 
in her eyes, nor her pallor. She did not look well, and 
he told her so. 

“ You have been very good,” she said, in answer. 

“ It was a pleasure,” he answered gravely and truly. 

“ I have a very full season before me,” she said. 
“ I am here until after Christmas, and then I have a 
number of engagements on the Continent.” 

“ You must look after your health,” he said bluntly, 
his hands once more deep in his pockets. 


298 


CHERRY ISLE 


“ I am tired,” Anthea confessed. 

They were in her sitting-room, and she was giving 
him tea. 

Anthea was looking very subdued; he could not 
quite tell of what she was thinking, but there was 
something very unusual about her. 

“ See here,” he said abruptly, “ I have one more 
piece of advice to give you.” 

“ Well?” 

“ Chuck everything, and go home to your husband 
and child. He sent you that Marconigram.” 

Anthea moved a teacup, then she looked across at 
him, saying gravely; 

“ Mr. Balturin, you have done so much for me that 
I feel I owe you something. My husband cabled be- 
cause he is a gentleman — and that is all.” 

“Nonsense,” he answered roughly; “nonsense. 
Garston loves you. Anyway, you should go, and now 
I must say good-bye.” 

She looked at him with genuine regret. 

“ I am sorry,” she said gently. 

“Are you, Anthea? ” 

He was before her now, and he stooped down and 
lifted the long white-fingered hand to his lips. 

A hot eager kiss, then he dropped the hand and went 
away, cursing himself and the world in general. 

Human documents are tricky things with which to 
deal, and the study of humanity frequently brings 
pain with it. 

But Balturin was the better for his pain, and so per- 
haps was Anthea, for if her early life had taught her 


CHERRY ISLE 


299 


to distrust her brother man, these last months had 
taught her that a good man is not so rare a product as 
is supposed. 

And to Arbuthnot she owed her soul’s awakening. 

But the burden that she carried grew heavier day 
by day; the thought of the childless home, of the child 
lying beneath the weight of earth who should have 
been playing on it, seemed to be crushing her. 

She had never looked her age, but now certain lines 
began to show themselves about her rather cruel lips 
and strange eyes. 

She kept her engagements, and every one said that 
she was singing better than ever. In her work the 
prima donna found consolation. 

And so the winter came and went, and spring came 
with dancing feet, and laughing voice, and in all these 
months neither husband nor wife had written to one 
another. The exchange of Marconigrams had been 
all. Anthea felt herself too unworthy — how could 
she write or go to husband and child when her hands 
were stained with blood? She knew that in April 
Garston was coming to America for a short tour. 

When April came she was singing in London, and 
she read that Charles Garston and his little daughter 
had taken their passage on the great vessel which was 
to make her maiden voyage, carrying on her bosom the 
world’s richest men. 

So he had taken the child with him !— and he must 
have known she was in England. 

A slight weariness of voice warned her that her 
strength was overdone. Her doctors advised a rest 


300 


CHERRY ISLE 


cure — one of those cures where no letters are allowed, 
where no papers are seen, where for as long as the 
patient decides he or she is practically buried alive. 

It is a risky cure, and sometimes fails. 

Dr. Dumfry advised it, and Anthea, feeling she was 
at the end of her tether, agreed. 

She endured it for a few days, and then, finding the 
cure infinitely more painful than the disease, decided 
to leave. 

The nursing home lies hidden away on the East 
Coast, and it is not far from the sea. 



CHAPTER XXXIV 


In short time my woes shall cease , 

And Love shall crown my end with peace . 

— Herrick. 

White chalk cliffs to north and south, curving away 
into uneven headlands to the west. 

A blue sea broken by little lines of breakers here and 
there, where the rocks, running far out to the sea, 
shone dark and purple beneath the shallow waters. 

An April blue sky, almost unflecked by clouds, and 
over everything a strange solemn stillness, broken only 
by the voices of Nature. 

The waves curled and fell very gently on the hard 
firm beach, the gulls called from one cliff to another, 
and the sky-larks sarjg far above in the dazzling blue. 

Sea to north and south and east, and westward the 
open country, fields springing green and fair, and far 
away the hills. 

A cuckoo called suddenly from a clump of trees, 
and its living voice floated down to the ears of the 
solitary figure standing upon the headland, gazing out 
to where the sky and sea hold each other in an ever- 
lasting embrace. 

Anthea had had more than enough of the nursing 
home of rest ; four days of complete silence had nearly 
301 


CHERRY ISLE 


302 

sent the famous singer distracted. In the orderly quiet 
of the home Anthea’ s burden grew heavier. 

And so to-day, on the 17th of April, she had left, 
and she had come out upon the cliffs to decide a 
question. She was going back to London, but she had 
chosen to walk to the little station; she wanted the 
real silence of Nature, as against the forced silence of 
the home. 

High overhead the sun shone, and Anthea — not as 
a rule a Nature lover — understood that the world was 
“ very good.” 

For four days she had received no letters and read 
no papers, and it seemed as if she were beginning life 
again. Her thoughts went out over the waters, away 
to the land where the child was sleeping. The flowers 
would be springing again over its little grave. Then 
in thought her vision followed the gallant ship in its 
pride of being, breaking the waves, and tearing through 
the waters. It carried her husband and child. 

Gently the wind fanned her. She took off her hat, 
and the breeze played over the copper-colored hair, 
glowing with a rare lustre in the sunlight. The 
strange eyes looked out over the sea very wistfully, for 
her heart was hungry for love of man and child. 

Slowly her determination came to her, and to deter- 
mine with Anthea was to perform. 

She would go down to Cherry Blossom Farm, and 
await the return of husband and daughter. 

Garston’s tour was to be only a very short one, and 
a month’s rest under the cherry trees would bring back 
her strength. They would blossom again, and under 


CHERRY ISLE 


303 


their dainty flower-laden boughs Garston, who was so 
much affected by external beauty, would forgive her, 
and take her back again. 

She thought of Balturin’s advice. 

“ Pick up the bits and patch them together again.” 

Well, she would try, and Anthea laid her pride down 
forever on the sunny white cliffs. 

Over the sunlit world a shadow crept, into the air 
there came a chill, and a bitter soughing wind began 
to blow. The birds ceased to sing, the larks dropped 
suddenly to earth, and the very flowers themselves 
drooped their heads and folded their petals as at the 
coming of the night. A gloom was falling over the 
world ; the great sun-god was veiling his face. 

One strange thrill of superstitious awe invaded 
Anthea’ s being — and then she understood. She had 
lost count of time during that horrible rest cure, and, 
of course, this was the 17th of April, the day of the 
eclipse. 

Dimmer and dimmer grew the light, and the dusk 
seemed to come forth from the earth itself. The sun 
turned blood-red, and then pale orange as the shadow 
covered its glory. In the strange silence that seemed 
to be part of the gathering gloom, the cold wind blew 
over the sea, and the waves fell with heavy thuds upon 
the sand. 

Anthea wrapped her cloak round her, wound her 
furs more closely about her neck. The wind blew 
colder and colder, and the gloom deepened. Footsteps 
sounded on the chalk road, and a woman hurrying up 
the pathway dropped a newspaper. 


304 


CHERRY ISLE 


The keen wind took it and played with it, and blew 
it straight to Anthea’s feet. 

Involuntarily she stooped and picked it up, read 
the headlines, and saw the name of the mighty 
ship. 

And the mighty ship had gone to its death amid the 
icebergs, and lay still forever under the ice-cold waters 
of the Atlanitc. 

Anthea read the paper. There was no mention of 
her husband; if he had been on the steamer surely such 
a great name would have been mentioned either 
amongst the lost or saved. 

Then she remembered he nearly always traveled un- 
der a different name ; he hated the “ fuss ” that his 
greatness brought. 

Holding the paper lightly with her hands, she looked 
out to sea once more. 

There beneath the waters — for all the waters are 
one water, and the wave that breaks at your feet to- 
day broke perhaps on the shores of a coral reef under 
sunny Indian skies a year ago — there beneath the 
waters lay perhaps her husband and child. 

She stood there, making no note of the passing of 
time, and the earth grew darker and the wind colder 
and the boom of the waves below her sounded like 
the beating out of hope on the shores of eternal separa- 
tion. 

Perhaps it was minutes, perhaps hours, before the 
shadow began to pass, the strange gloom began to lift, 
and life came back again into the air. As the dark- 
ness passed from the sun, so the darkness lifted 


CHERRY ISLE 


305 

slightly from her soul. She would still hope. She 
could find out at once, of course, by going to her busi- 
ness manager or his. And she would go to Cherry 
Blossom Farm to receive the answers. 

She left a laughing world of sunshine behind her, 
and the train carried her past Red Hill and the lovely 
Surrey country, through Aldershot, and away up to 
the country where hidden among the hills lies the land 
of Cherry Isle. 

Every poster, every paper, and every tongue spoke 
only of one thing — the loss of the mighty ship. Na- 
ture, mighty Nature, had moved her little finger, and 
man's work had shriveled up and died. 

Anthea came the way which she had come as a 
young woman more than ten years before. 

The sun was beginning to set, the sky was dyed with 
pale green and purple, and the east wind was blowing 
with chill sweetness as it always did over Cherry Isle 
in the spring. Here and there the branches were bear- 
ing blossoms, and here and there the dainty buds were 
blooming, and an undergrowth of green, tender new- 
born green, covered the pathways. 

The celandines, like fallen stars, glistened amidst 
the foliage, and the cuckoo called from the sunset 
hills. 

She came up the pathway, and over the hill. 

Hope was alive within her; she knew that her hus- 
band had not sailed; some certain instinct of her being 
told her so. 

On the crest of the hill she paused. 

The air was suddenly filled with the notes of an 


3 o6 CHERRY ISLE 

aeolian harp; then, playing as if to accompany if, 
sounded a violin. 

Anthea stood perfectly still; if she walked another 
few yards the player would be visible. 

Then the violin ceased, and sounded again, and her 
husband's voice spoke in the air. 

“ Mother’s song, my Cherry Blossom? Very well; 
play softly, Little Poem, and I will sing.” 

Then she heard him singing, and his voice came to 
her from under the cherry trees: 

A heart as soft, a heart as kind, 

A heart as sound and free. 

As in the whole world thou can f st find 
That heart Til give to thee. 

Thou art my life, my love, my heart, 

The very eyes of me, 

And hast command of every part 
T o live and die for thee . 

Then Anthea, his wife, stood before him, her hair 
glowing in the sunshine, as it had glowed when he had 
first seen it, and her eyes wide open. The strange 
mysterious orbs were filled with love and pleading, and 
the long white hands were held out to him with a 
great beseeching. 

She did not speak, but, as she stood there, a wind 
blew a few blossoms down upon her hair. 

Charles Garston had been standing as he sang, and 
for a few moments it seemed to him as if he saw a 
vision. But when the cherry blossoms floated down- 


CHERRY ISLE 


307 

wards and rested on her head he knew that it was 
Anthea. 

She came to him as though she had never been his 
before. 

Her hands were still outstretched. He sprang for- 
ward, and drew her to him until the proud head rested 
on his shoulder. 

Little Julia — child of genius and intuition — stood 
for a second watching them; then, holding her fiddle, 
she sprang away down the pathway and disappeared 
among the cherry trees. 

A silence, and then the man whispered very low: 

“Anthea, is it you — at last? ” 

She did not lift her head from its resting place on 
his shoulder, but she answered quickly: 

“ Herrick, I have wanted you ever since you sent 
that Marconigram. I had behaved too badly to ask 
you to come, but I have wanted you and our child. ,, 

“Anthea ! ” his voice was hot with passion again ; 
“ if I had only known! ” 

“Listen, Herrick.” She drew herself away, and 
stood facing him with tragic eyes. “ Listen to what I 
have to say.” 

“ To hear you is music,” her husband answered, and 
would have drawn her to him once more, but she 
stepped back and spoke quickly: 

“ Herrick, you do not know ; listen ! ” And then in 
a few quick sentences she told him everything. 

He heard her in silence, and she spared herself not 
one iota. 


CHERRY ISLE 


308 

“ My poor wife ! ” he said, and that was the whole 
of his condemnation. 

Presently the sound of a violin being played was 
borne to them, and Anthea, lifting her head from his 
shoulder, said: 

“ What a wonderful tone our child brings from her 
violin ! ” 

“ Julia is a rare genius,” her father answered 
proudly. “ I must teach you how to understand her, 
Anthea.” 

She looked at him quickly, and answered very 
sedately: 

“ I have learned the dumb language, Herrick, and I 
think I shall be able to understand her.” 

Garston laughed. 

“Ah, Anthea,” he began, teasingly, but she flushed, 
and said quickly: 

“ Now, Herrick, I am going to find, truly find, my 
daughter. Will you stay here ? ” 

Then she walked slowly away towards the place 
whence came the sound of music. 

And this was the manner of Anthea’s entrance into 
her kingdom of wifehood and motherhood. 


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